


Automatism

by red_to_black



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Buck is a sexy lil bartender, Fluff and Smut, GOD TIER EMO AU, M/M, Past Abuse, Slash, Slow Burn, Smut, this does have a plot i swear it's just introduced LATE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 40,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24997546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_to_black/pseuds/red_to_black
Summary: Eddie is maybe the world's greatest believer in the phrase "if it's not broken, don't fix it". He lives his life to a careful routine, safe in the knowledge that nothing has to change.Until Buck starts bar tending over at the old dive on fourteenth street, and Eddie decides that maybe a little change is good. The problem? Buck gets under his skin and worms his way into Eddie's heart, and Eddie - well, he's never been good at leaving well enough alone.(or: emo Mindgamers-esque Buck meets Firefighter Eddie, in the unholy god-tier-emo-au only one person asked for).
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 228





	1. Eddie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indiguus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiguus/gifts).



> okay, so this fic is the brain child of me and indinguus (www.indiguus.tumblr.com) over many late-night discussions on twitter. i watched mindgamers, i got obsessed, hesuggested it could be cute to see lil emo buck with firefighter eddie and now... we're here.
> 
> some things to note: they're younger in this fic than in canon. i calculated their ages according to what i could find on the wiki. buck is 23, eddie is 28. chris is 6. i've tried to keep their characterisations consistent while exploring that shy/insecure/prickly facet of buck we saw briefly with eddie in 2x01, while exploring why he might have taken a different path than the one he took in canon. 
> 
> trigger warnings: drug use/abuse, a character gets drugged with something in their drink, mentions of war (very brief) and the next chapter will have quite a lot of stuff concerning childhood abuse. if any of these things trigger you please read carefully. this is NOT a happy fic. there's a few murders discussed, no major characters, nothing graphic.
> 
> as usual, i can be found at www.allyourfandomsbelongtous.tumblr.com. i'm also on discord now, so there's that.

To call the Sin Bin on fourteenth a dive bar would be kind.

Still, their drinks are affordable if not great, and it's close enough to the firehouse that Eddie can walk there, then walk back and use the sleeping rooms if he has to. He's been coming here for a few months, now, ever since Shannon - well, ever since Shannon, and the bouncers don't bother checking him anymore.

Eddie's not even sure what the place's real name is. He only knows it by what everyone calls it - the Sin Bin, or the Den of Sin, or any other titles that would suggest high-class strippers but really just means your boots stick to the floor as you enter.

It’s been changing lately. “Undergoing upgrading” as the owner puts it – the place has been the same as far back as anyone remembers, including Bobby, but if they want to stay open in the L.A business climate, they have to update.

“I mean, replacing the creepy old skeleton who tends bar would be a good start,” Hen had grumbled to him, less than a week ago. Eddie had pointed out that they don’t have to go there – but it’s close to work and they get discounts on the already-cheap, large meals, so it feels stupid to move.

Eddie thinks there’s something to be said for change. Especially today.

He walks in after his shift, intent on getting a beer before he heads off to pick up Christopher, and instead of being greeted with the usual guy – an old man who must’ve been in his seventies, at least, and didn’t offer anything other than a grizzled, “What’ll it be?” when he sat down – he’s greeted with something totally different.

“Welcome to the Sin Bin,” the new guy says, sounding like it’s pulling teeth just to utter the words. “Would you like to hear the specials menu?”

"You're new," Eddie says, a little startled. It's not often that there's change in the careful routine of his life, and the bartender - well, the bartender is a change, that's for sure.

First of all, he's young. Younger than Eddie for sure. Second of all, he's - well, he's sort of drop-dead gorgeous, and very much looks like he's supposed to be ornamental in this place, instead of functional. Big, piercing blue eyes, pretty pink lips. Black haired. Yeah - he's gorgeous. He couldn’t be further away from the old guy who used to work here.

"I started here yesterday." The guy's voice is a little guarded. "Is that gonna be a problem?"

"No," Eddie says. "No problem. Just - some of these guys, they're like part of the furniture, you know?"

"What, old and leathery?" the guy asks.

Eddie laughs, startled by the frankness. "You said it, not me."

The guy gestures. "What're you after?" He’s dropped the stiff, formal wording he was undoubtedly told to use by the new management team.

"Beer. Whatever there is on tap." He watches the guy work - he's fairly sure that's eyeliner he's seeing, and he's momentarily very confused about his sudden attraction to this guy - it's not that he hasn't been interested in guys before; he has been, just not any that look like this. Then he dismisses it, because fuck it, who is he to judge himself?

"What's your name?" he asks.

"Evan," the guy - Evan - says. "But people call me Buck."

"People?"

"Everyone who isn't my sister calls me Buck," Buck explains.

"Oh. I'm Eddie."

Buck waves a hand, like he can't be bothered with a proper introduction, and puts Eddie's drink down in front of him. The light catches and - yeah, he's definitely got eyeliner on, and a pierced eyebrow.

Eddie feels like his life just got a lot more interesting.

~*~

When he goes back the next day - for the food this time - Buck is there, leaning over the counter with his head balanced in one hand, the other doodling idly at a scrap of paper.

Eddie watches him for a moment. He's broad-shouldered, but lanky - like he'd be muscular if he maybe ate a little bit more food. As it is, he's lean in a way that makes him look a little sharp - dangerous, but beautiful.

He stops staring before Buck can catch him and approaches the counter. Buck looks up - assesses - and gives a small, polite smile of recognition.

"Hey," he says. "Eddie, right?"

"That's me."

"What're you after today?"

"Actually, can I get a menu? Kinda starved after the shift."

Buck winces like he wants Eddie to think better of eating here, but he gets one anyway. "Where're you going to be sitting?"

"Is here okay? The bar?"

"Sure. No one else is here." Buck hands the menu over, grabs a glass. "Eating alone?"

"I promise it's not as sad as it sounds."

Buck almost-smiles, but doesn't, like he's holding himself back. "You know if you eat at the counter you're stuck with me, right?"

"Doesn't seem so bad," Eddie says, and watches as Buck's eyes track the door, where an older man has entered. Eddie can see him stiffen up a little, and his eyes go flinty and cold, like he's steeling himself for a fight.

Something happened there. Eddie doesn't say anything, just sticks his face in his menu and minds his business like his abuela always tells him to. He can hear Buck serving the older man - he sounds as tense as he suddenly looks, not that the other guy seems to care or be paying attention. He's entirely focussed on Buck.

It's not a great area. Eddie has to acknowledge that. There are always going to be predatory men looking to fulfill their tastes, regardless of the comfort of others - it just so happens that Buck appears to be this man's taste.

He's got his order sorted by the time Buck comes back over, looking a little scowly for his encounter. He's wearing eyeliner again. Eddie's never been much of a guy to appreciate makeup - on men or women - but it does make Buck's eyes more striking. There's a mark above the left one, a bright pink weal that's almost endearing.

"Ready to order?" Buck asks.

"Uh, yeah. I'll take the salmon and... yeah, the drinks here aren't great, so I guess beer."

"They weren't great when the same people who've been making them for thirty years were making them," Buck says. "I bartended in South America and learned a few tricks."

"Yeah?" Eddie smiles; Buck looks like he divulged more than he meant to. "Surprise me, then."

Buck eyes him for a moment, but ultimately moves away to make a drink. Eddie watches him, then thinks that maybe that makes Buck uncomfortable and looks away. He thumbs through his phone while he waits, contemplating taking an extra shift later in the week. It'll mean less time with Chris, but it'll pretty much cover his monthly expenses.

"Here."

He looks up. Buck's putting a drink down in front of him. "Sazerac," he says. "Enjoy."

"Hey, wait," Eddie says, and Buck turns back to him. "Aren't you gonna tell me about it?"

Buck gives him a look that says _do I look like free entertainment to you_ but doesn't say anything, just walks back and launches into a slightly stiff explanation of the drink and its ingredients. As he does, Eddie sips - it's great, but he'll definitely only be having one.

“Strong,” he comments.

Buck shrugs. “Not the strongest thing I ever made anyone.”

“Has your bartending killed people?” Eddie asks, almost genuinely concerned.

Buck actually does smile at that. He looks a lot friendlier when he does, and Eddie has to wonder if Buck’s naturally a little standoffish or a combination of the work and clientele has made him like this. “Not that I know of. I hope not anyway.”

It’s quiet around this time, so Eddie gets to sit for a while and chat intermittently with Buck. They’re close enough in age – at twenty-three, Buck’s only five years younger than Eddie – and it’s kind of nice to talk to someone in his age bracket. Chimney, Bobby and Hen are great – but Eddie’s the youngest, and sometimes he feels that keenly.

He can tally up a few things he knows about Buck now. That he’s twenty-three, that he worked as a bartender in South America, that he wears eyeliner. And that’s pretty much it. He deftly avoids any discussion on life aspirations, school, or anything that would really allow Eddie to know him better, but he doesn’t seem to mind chatting.

When it does get busier, Eddie clears out. When he goes to pay, he notices the drink isn’t there.

“That thing you made,” he says. “The Sazerac-”

“On the house,” Buck says. “Wouldn’t be fair to charge you for being a guinea pig.”

Eddie grins. “Right.”

~*~

It’s almost a week before he gets the chance to head in again – Chris has school projects, work runs into overtime and his abuela isn’t available for as much babysitting.

By the time he gets back into the Sin Bin, they’ve rebranded it The Prohibition and there’s construction going on out the front. When Eddie approaches, he can only think that naming a place The Prohibition after its reputation as the Sin Bin is a bad idea.

He walks in, meaning to ask Buck about it – maybe this is the reason they’ve hired much younger new staff – he sees that Buck is tied up talking to two older men, both of whom Eddie recognises as people who were in the last few times he was.

Something odd happens then. Buck - who's staring stiffly at a point over the man's shoulder - looks around when Eddie settles at the bar. For a moment, the expression endures on his face.

Then he recognises Eddie - and relaxes.

It's something he maybe wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't already so attuned to reading Buck's body language, but he can see it - Buck's shoulders loosen, and the lines at the corners of his mouth go away. He still doesn't look happy to be talking to the older patron - but he does look a little bit more at ease.

All because Eddie walked in.

Eddie basks in that as he waits to be served - Buck eventually makes his way over, and this time, when he looks at Eddie, he smiles.

Eddie can't remember anyone having smiled at him like that before, just because he walked into a place and sat down. "Hey," he says, returning the grin.

"Hi." Buck hands him a menu. "You're back."

"Just finished my shift." Eddie skims the menu, already knowing that he'll get his usual - salmon and whatever drink Buck wants to test on him that night. "Uh, I'll have the-"

"Salmon, with vegetables and fries as the side," Buck finishes.

Eddie grins. "You remember my order?"

"You order the same thing every time you come here, Eddie." Buck’s rubbing a glass clean; as he turns his head, Eddie admires the glint of eyeliner on him for a moment, then looks away, aware that the attention may come across as creepy. Buck already seems like he’s not going to tolerate any shit from people.

“What’ll it be today, anyway?” Buck asks. “Drinks-wise.”

“Any recommendations from the best bartender in The Prohibition?” Eddie grins.

Buck rolls his eyes. “First of all, don’t get me started on the bullshit rebranding. It’s bad enough that the owners apparently don’t know what the actual prohibition was. Second of all, I’m the only bartender who knows how to make anything other than a rum and coke,” he mutters. “I don’t think that’s much of a claim to fame. What’s your feelings on girly drinks?”

“Does my masculinity seem that fragile?” Eddie asks dryly.

That manages to pull a little grin out of Buck, like he wasn’t expecting the response. “No. Doesn’t hurt to ask though.” He pins Eddie’s order to the open-windowed kitchen, then grabs a hurricane glass down from the shelf.

“Don’t tell me you’re making me a Long Island iced tea,” Eddie says.

“Do I look like the kinda guy who would give you a Long Island iced tea?” Buck shoots back.

“Not even if I begged,” Eddie replies, not missing a beat, and Buck smiles again, a little easier this time.

Eddie’s already decided – whatever brought Buck here, it doesn’t seem like it was a happy story, judging by Buck’s demeanour. And he can’t have that.

He’s going to make Buck relax if it kills him.

~*~

It becomes a routine – Eddie’s shifts usually finish an hour or two before he has to pick up Chris from anywhere, and so he tends to go to the Sin Bin to get lunch. Buck always seems to be working, which Eddie is sure doesn’t help his mood.

One particular day – a Thursday – he heads in and settles down at his usual spot, looks around, and finds Buck at the other end of the bar, posture stiff as he talks to two men who are very clearly leering at him. He’s not even wearing anything that would warrant leering – a black t-shirt and some jeans, same old Converse.

Eddie drums his fingers on the bar, faux-impatient, and Buck turns around to look. He sees it’s Eddie and relaxes a little, heads over almost immediately.

“Good timing,” he says.

“They bugging you?”

Buck shrugs. “What’ll it be? The usual?”

Okay, they’re not gonna talk about it. Eddie can handle that. “Yeah, thanks.”

Buck goes through his ritual of sticking his order to the board, then grabbing a glass to wipe down. Given how clean they usually are, Eddie thinks it’s probably more for something to do with his hands than anything else.

“So, they come here often?” Eddie asks, nodding at the guys down the bar.

“Often enough,” Buck mumbles.

“Maybe it’s just because you’re here every day?” Eddie offers up.

“You’re always here too,” Buck mutters defensively.

Clearly, he’s not in the mood for joking. “My boss has me on a semi-permanent morning roster,” Eddie says. “Doesn’t change much.” He doesn’t say it’s because of Chris – because he has no one else to rely on, apart from Abuela once a week or so. “You okay?”

Buck surprises him by hesitating, then putting the glass he’s been furiously cleaning down. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry. I’m being a dick.”

“That’s fine,” Eddie replies, blinking. “You sure everything’s okay?”

Buck’s eyes slide to the two men at the other end of the bar, then back to Eddie. He doesn’t say anything.

“They’re bugging you again, huh?” Eddie asks.

“I normally don’t let it get to me,” Buck mutters. “They’re just gross old dudes. Plenty of them in L.A, plenty more of them around here.”

“It’s getting to you today, though,” Eddie says, a little concerned.

“You try being sexually harassed _every fucking day_ at work and let me know if it doesn’t wear you down,” Buck snaps.

Eddie reels. It’s as much of a warning that Buck doesn’t want to talk about it that he’s ever been given, but it’s also the one time it feels really important that he push the issue. Clearly, something is going on – something that’s made today worse.

“You wanna get a coffee when you’re finished?” Eddie asks.

Buck nearly drops the glass. It’s back to being viciously cleaned. If Buck scrubs it any harder, it might disintegrate. “What?” he demands.

“Do you go anywhere other than work and home?” Eddie asks. “Just seems like you could use a break, that’s all. Promise I’m not being creepy or anything.” He tries a disarming smile, the kind that works on women at Christopher’s school. “This whole time you’ve been giving me actually good booze. Maybe I wanna repay you.”

He can see Buck floundering with the offer.

“Okay,” he says, eventually.

“Yeah?”

Buck nods. “I finish in half an hour.”

“Okay. I’ll wait.”

Buck looks grateful for that, and when his relief comes in, he slips out the back – to where Eddie is assuming the employee lockers are – and comes back wearing a hoodie, hands shoved into his pockets and his phone and wallet clearly visible in the pockets of his jeans.

Eddie ignores the looks of the two older men as they leave. Buck takes a deep breath when they’re on the sidewalk, like he’s relieved to be out of there. In the sunlight, his eyes are brighter than Eddie had realised.

“Thanks,” he says softly.

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie replies. “Better?”

“Always better out of work.” Buck does seem more relaxed; they walk to a nearby café, and Buck even laughs at a few of Eddie’s jokes, even if some of them are pitiful.

They sit down in a booth, because the café is fairly quiet, and even though they get some strange looks – Eddie, in his LAFD t-shirt, and Buck with his eyeliner – the waitress is nice enough and Buck looks far more relaxed than Eddie’s ever seen him.

“Hope this didn’t make you uncomfortable,” he says to Buck.

Buck shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have come with you if I thought you were gonna murder me for my kidneys,” he says.

“That’s… super specific.”

“There were over twelve thousand organs sold on the black market last year,” Buck says distractedly – he’s looking at the menu. “Nearly eight thousand of those were kidneys – almost than three times the amount of the next closest, which was the liver. So chances are if you were gonna murder me for my organs, it’d be my kidneys you were after.”

Eddie takes a second to process that. He has a lot of questions – the first being why the fuck would Buck know any of that – but he settles on a simple, “Well… on that note, ever abused prescription painkillers?”

Buck laughs. Eddie saves the “why do you know that” question for later, along with the “why are you so overtly concerned about becoming a victim of black market organ trade” question.

The waitress brings their coffees out, which is around when Eddie discovers Buck takes his black with no sugar and decides Buck must not actually feel things. For a moment, they sit in comfortable silence – Buck’s got his elbows on the table, arms crossed, examining the menu again.

“You hungry?” Eddie asks, suddenly remembering that Buck’s worked all day.

“A little, yeah.” He’s gnawing idly at his lip – Eddie watches the movement distractedly, wondering what possessed him to invite the guy here without so much as a next-step in the plan. “You okay if I order something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Buck orders, and as the waitress leaves, he looks up, seems to remember that Eddie’s there, and sighs. “Sorry for snapping at you,” he says.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have pushed it.”

Buck rubs the back of his neck. “They just keep me on edge a little, that’s all,” he admits. “I just… don’t get a good feeling from them, like I can feel them watching me while I work.”

“How long have they been bothering you for?” Eddie asks curiously.

“Almost since I started. It’s one of them in particular, he just brings his buddy along sometimes. Anyway. Nothing I can do about it, so…”

“You could tell management.”

Buck laughs, a little bitterly. “Eddie, they’re friends with management. You were the one who pointed out to me they’re all crusty and basically part of the furniture in there. No one would listen.” He shrugs. “Besides, it’s not just me anyway. I’ll look for another job.”

“Didn’t they hire you because they’re rebranding?” Eddie asks. “Maybe they’ll go away after that.”

Buck looks actually comforted by that. “Hadn’t thought about it,” he admits. “Yeah, maybe. I think we’re keeping the food, but only up until a certain time, and then it’ll be more of a club.”

Eddie nods. “You know, The Prohibition-”

“Is sort of a dumb name for a club-slash-bar that serves huge amounts of booze?” Buck asks. “Yeah, I tried to tell them. They didn’t listen. Said I “got my history all wrong”, or something like that.”

“Wow,” Eddie says. “That’s… impressive.”

“Impressively dumb,” Buck complains. “Seriously, you learn about it in high school.”

“High school was about a century ago for those guys, Buck. Cut them a little slack,” Eddie teases.

“Never too late to learn,” Buck mutters, stabbing his hash brown. “Want some?”

Eddie’s surprised, but takes him up on the offer. Buck seems relatively content to sit in silence unless something’s really struck him, which… is something Eddie can get behind, honestly. It’s not often he meets anyone like Buck in general, but particularly in L.A.

He wants to ask what brings Buck here. He just has a feeling he wouldn’t be told the truth.

~*~

Eddie goes there often enough that Hen and Chim start teasing him about it.

He shrugs them off, playing along with their teasing with the gruffness they’re expecting of him. He loves them, and them him.

Abuela and Pepa start keeping Chris for overnight stays, sometimes. Which frees him up to take night and twilight shifts. What he’s not really counting on from taking twilights – which are ten-hour shifts concluding at midnight or one in the morning – is that his favourite place to eat, the newly-minted Prohibition, goes from being an eatery to a clubhouse.

He enters around midnight on a Thursday, intent on finding something to eat, only to find the place pounding with music that vibrates right up through the soles of his shoes and into his chest. After a twelve-hour shift of hearing people cry and scream, it’s too much, and he turns to leave.

He spots Buck, weaving his way expertly through the crowd. His mouth goes dry – Buck’s wearing black leather jeans that cling to his thighs sinfully, sit low enough on his hips that Eddie can see his bone structure, and a denim vest with nothing underneath it. Some sort of jewellery glitters around his neck, and even in the darkness, his eyes stand out – blue and piercing as he spots Eddie, framed with black eyeliner.

He feels like a total creep for getting caught staring. Until Buck’s mouth quirks into a tiny smile, like he’s saying, _hey, I see you there_.

Eddie’s pulse jumps with the music when Buck heads towards him, tall and graceful enough to lift the tray of drinks over everyone’s heads. Eddie’s held guns that could kill dozens of people in a second, and there’s no way he could ever have that delicacy.

“Hey,” Buck calls over the music, when he’s close enough. “You look lost.”

“I wanted food,” Eddie calls back.

Buck smirks. “Not your scene?”

“I can’t believe it’s anyone’s scene.”

Buck shrugs, takes a drink from the tray – something electric blue and in a test tube – and shots it back. Eddie watches his Adam’s apple move with the swallow, catches the sight of a necklace clasped tight around his throat like a collar.

“Should you be drinking?” Eddie asks.

“Keeps me steady,” Buck replies, wholly focussed on Eddie. “And sane.”

Eddie nods.

“I gotta go.” Buck’s looking at someone over his shoulder, now, and Eddie doesn’t want to turn to look. “There’s an IHOP a block away. Wouldn’t be the worst place to eat.”

The music changes, some sort of techno that lapses into silence at random intervals. For a moment, it’s eerily quiet as Buck looks over his shoulder. He’s not smiling anymore.

“When do you finish?” Eddie asks, right as the music picks back up.

“What?” Buck yells.

“When do you finish?”

“Whenever someone comes in to take over. Might not be for a while yet.”

Eddie nods, and Buck rolls his eyes – exaggerated, like he’s making fun of Eddie a little. “I’ll be fine, Mom,” he teases. “Go eat something.”

With that, he moves off, walking past Eddie at such proximity that his almost-bare hip checks Eddie’s hand, at his side.

Mouth dry and feeling confused as all hell, Eddie leaves, steps out into the damp night, and heads to IHOP.

~*~

IHOP isn’t the worst place for a meal, it’s true, but it’s also not the best and Eddie much prefers the solid, rounded meals that the Prohibition sells.

He’s walking back after eating some shitty hash-browns and whatever else they had on offer at midnight when he notices Buck, standing out in the rain, at the bus shelter near the Prohibition. He’s sort of obvious, because he’s the only person waiting, and Eddie can see his shoulders are hunched for warmth.

“Someone relieved you, huh?” he asks, approaching.

Buck jumps, obviously startled, and regards Eddie with a wary expression. Inside the club, he was perfectly friendly – outside it, Eddie realises, could be a different story. They’re the only two people on the street.

“Yeah,” Buck says finally. “Just gotta wait for the bus now.”

Eddie nods. “It doesn’t come for a while,” he says. “You want a lift?”

Buck’s shaking his head before he even finishes the sentence, and Eddie notes that while Buck is wearing the same pants, he’s ditched the denim vest – he’s wearing a t-shirt and a thin zip-up hoodie over the top. The jewellery is gone too. The outfit and jewellery must be partly a costume for nights where he’s – doing this.

"You look cold," Eddie says.

Buck looks down at the ground. The street lights glimmer off his hair, a bit damp from the one-AM rain. The sweatshirt he’s wearing really isn’t enough to protect him from the rain or the sudden cold, and Eddie’s worried about him getting sick.

"Why stand out here?" Eddie asks, realising Buck's not going to answer him on the first statement.

"Because it's the bus stop," Buck mumbles. His jaw is clenched, and for a moment, Eddie thinks he's actually annoyed - until he notices the slight shivers racing up and down Buck's body. He's an odd combination of muscular, but lanky - he's lean, Eddie thinks, and that, combined with the pitch-back curls and pale skin and everything else just makes him... well, it makes him beautiful. Dangerous, a little, but beautiful.

"You take the bus home every night?" Eddie asks. "This... isn't a great area of town, you know."

"I'm not a kid," Buck says uncomfortably. "No one's gonna mug me."

"I mean, they might," Eddie says reasonably, and Buck scowls a little. "I... okay, yeah, you're right. Sorry. I'll stop bothering you."

He turns to go, thinking uneasily that he doesn't want to leave Buck and his sharp, beautiful angles in the light of the street lamp. Buck isn't his, and clearly doesn't need to be protected - except maybe he does, a little, but not from anyone at the bar.

"Hey."

Eddie turns. Buck's fidgeting idly with his phone, mouth pursed but eyes a little wide, trained on Eddie. For a second, Eddie gets a flash of - something. Something beneath the hard exterior Buck so desperately projects. Someone who wants, but doesn't know how to ask. It’s more… honest than the other versions he’s seen. More like the version he got in the coffee shop, less like the hardass bartender or flirty dancefloor waiter.

"Next Friday night," Buck says. "There's a live band playing. I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but if you come after nine you get half-price straight."

"Straight?" Eddie smiles, decides to try for a joke. He wants to see Buck smile. Wants to make him smile. "As in, the people? Or the booze?"

Buck's mouth twitches, almost giving Eddie his reward. "Booze."

"Oh. Too bad. But I'll be there, if I don't get overtime." Eddie rocks on his heels for a moment; Buck's hair is getting wet. "Look, will you just let me give you a ride somewhere? Doesn't have to be home. Just - somewhere that isn't here."

"I don't need-"

"A ride, yada yada, I know. It's raining. Look - the library has shelter out the front and it's right on the bus route. Most lines go through there. So how about I just drop you there?"

Buck looks at the bus timetable, his phone, and up at the sky. Then he starts towards Eddie, saying, "Are you sure...?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. My car's this way."

They jog to the car, and once they're in, Eddie cranks the heater up. Buck smells good, this close, and Eddie's relieved to have him out of the rain and a little giddy that Buck actually trusts him to get in the car. He gets the impression Buck doesn't trust many people.

"Hey, uh... can I ask a favour?" Buck asks awkwardly.

"Yeah, shoot."

"Do you mind if we stop at McDonald's or something on the way back? I'm really hungry. I didn't get to eat much on shift so-"

"Done," Eddie says easily, and he's rewarded with a tiny, uncertain smile.

They spend the ride mostly in silence. Buck seems content listening to the radio, and his eyelids are drooping like he's tired. He probably is - Eddie's waited tables before, and it's a unique kind of exhaustion, the kind you get from having to be nice and put up with everyone whether or not you want to.

"Buck," Eddie says, after they've picked up food and Buck has finished eating. The warmth has only made him seem sleepier.

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure I can't just take you back to your place?" Eddie asks hesitantly. "You look beat."

Buck chews on his lip. He's clearly exhausted and tempted by the offer, but whatever's stopping him is powerful enough to make him consider it. Eddie wonders if he's accepted lifts with dire consequences before.

"Okay," Buck relents.

"Okay," Eddie says, surprised but pleased. "Lead the way."

Buck's building is a duplex, and Eddie wonders, as they pull up, if Buck has roommates - if he has anyone, or if he lives on his own. Buck looks wary about being dropped off, though, so Eddie doesn't ask just yet.

"Thanks for the lift," Buck says. "I probably would've been waiting for the bus still."

"No problem. Thanks for the invite."

Buck steps out of the car with his hood up against the rain, gives a little wave, and jogs to the front door. Eddie waits until he gets inside - until he sees the top right-hand window light up from within, knows that Buck has gotten in safe. It’s silly, almost, because Buck is bigger than Eddie is even if he is younger and definitely isn’t some scared little lamb that needs protection – but it feels like the right thing to do. To make sure he’s alright.

Then he drives away, to his own little life, and tries not to think too hard about being sad for not being invited in.

~*~

The next day, when he heads into The Prohibition for food, it’s almost empty and Buck looks run off his feet.

“Hey,” Eddie says, swinging into his usual seat at the bar. “Strobe lights, really? I can already tell that I’m gonna get called here for seizures. And maybe overdoses.”

“Manager says there won’t be drugs here,” Buck says tiredly, rubbing at his eyes as he reaches for his notepad. He writes Eddie’s order down as a courtesy to the chef, now – he hasn’t needed to ask in a long time.

“You uh,” Eddie says, “you messed up your eyeliner a little.”

“Fuck,” Buck groans. “Yeah, sorry. Hang on-”

“It’s fine,” Eddie says. He catches a glimpse of a detailed drawing as Buck rips the top sheet off the notepad. “Hey, what’s that?”

“Just some crappy sketches,” Buck mumbles, but he tosses the piece of paper at Eddie anyway, focussing mostly on getting his order jotted down.

Eddie picks it up, flips it over, and is surprised to see that not only is Buck’s idea of a “crappy sketch” a highly-detailed, perfectly-shaded realistic portrait, but that it’s of him – bent over his phone, smiling at something, with a plate of food in front of him. He’s even drawn in the LAFD t-shirt and the detail of the tattoo on his arm.

“Is this me?” he asks, as if he needs to confirm it. Maybe there are other firefighters who come here, but the detail and precision don’t leave a lot of room for doubt.

Buck doesn’t answer. Eddie looks up to find him leaning against the counter, looking pale and exhausted.

“Hey,” he says hurriedly, leaving the picture on the counter as he lurches upright. He grabs Buck’s shoulders without thinking about it, seeing how unsteady he looks. “You look like shit, you okay?”

Buck nods, begins to straighten up a little. “Just got dizzy,” he mumbles.

“Are you sick?” Eddie’s in paramedic mode before he can really help it – this is his job, after all. He checks Buck for fever with a hand on his neck, but finds none. “No fever. Hang on-”

He takes Buck’s wrist, puts two fingers against his pulse. It’s fast – faster than it has any right to be. As he does, he notices that Buck’s clammy.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” he asks suspiciously.

“McDonald’s. Last night.”

It’s been over twenty hours since then. “Jesus, Buck,” Eddie worries. “Your blood sugar’s probably fucked up.” He gets up, goes around the bar to a vague squawk of protest from Buck. “Sit down. You need to eat something.”

“I’m fine,” Buck mumbles, but he allows Eddie to guide him into one of the barstools and goes back to leaning on the counter, still white.

“Yeah, whatever,” Eddie says. “Hey, uh – can we get some fries here?”

He directs it at the kitchen, and a large, burly head sticks through the window. “Kid okay?” the cook asks gruffly.

“Low blood sugar,” Eddie explains. “He’ll be fine, just needs something to eat.”

“Eddie, God, I’m fine,” Buck says. “I’m working-”

“Yeah, yourself, into the ground,” Eddie says exasperatedly, and shoves the bowl of fries at Buck when the cook passes them through. “Here.”

Buck does eat, and Eddie watches carefully as the colour returns to his cheeks and he looks less shaky. He allows Eddie to take his pulse again – after ten minutes, it’s back within acceptable ranges for someone Buck’s height.

Eddie’s salmon comes out, brought by the cook. There’s no one else around, thankfully, and nobody to yell at Buck to keep working. The cook seems mostly concerned for him.

“So,” Eddie says slowly, cutting into his salmon and dumping some into Buck’s near-empty bowl of fries, “wanna explain to me why you haven’t eaten in twenty hours?”

Buck doesn’t say anything, and when he picks up another fry to stick in his mouth, it’s pretty clear he doesn’t intend to. Eddie watches him – clearly, something’s not right. Buck mentioned yesterday that the reason he was so hungry was because he hadn’t eaten at work, and now he’s admitting that he hasn’t eaten again.

They can’t be paying him so badly he can’t afford to eat, right?

Eddie searches for a topic of conversation that might help Buck relax a little. He’s eating the salmon now – he didn’t even argue with Eddie putting it on his plate.

His eyes land on the sketch Buck made of him, and he picks it up. “This is really good,” he says sincerely. “Is this me?”

“Yeah,” Buck says. “Sorry, that’s probably weird.”

“It’s not that weird. You got the tattoo and everything.” Eddie waves it. “Can I keep it?”

Buck looks surprised. “You want it?” he asks hesitantly. “I mean, they’re just my crappy sketches. You can have it if you want.”

“If this is a crappy sketch, I can’t wait to see what your good sketches look like,” Eddie says, and Buck tints a little pink. He’s not used to being praised, it seems like. “Sign it?”

“What?”

“Sign it,” Eddie insists. “When you’re a famous artist I can sell it for a new car or something.”

Buck huffs a laugh at that – mission accomplished – and signs it, more to humour Eddie than anything else. “There you go.”

“I’ll treasure it until I need a new car,” Eddie says seriously.

Buck smiles, eats another few fries. Eddie watches carefully – he seems a lot better. Obviously it was just low blood sugar, and not something more sinister.

“I don’t eat when I’m stressed,” Buck says, surprising him. “I don’t get a lot of time when I’m working anyway, and when I’m stressed I just sort of forget. I don’t… do it on purpose.”

“You work too much,” Eddie says, trying to convey how serious he is about it without sounding like a condescending jerkoff. “When was the last time you had a day off?”

“I take a day off a week.” Buck winces. “Probably isn’t enough time to really rest.”

“Probably not,” Eddie agrees. “If I ask you why you’re stressed will you tell me?”

“Probably not,” Buck mimics, and Eddie sighs but he accepts it. Hell, he’s surprised Buck even admitted anything to him.

He cuts another piece of salmon off his own. “Here,” he says. “Eat some more.”

~*~

The next time he goes in, he says, “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, Mom,” Buck mocks.

“Hey, don’t make fun of me,” Eddie whines. “I stole jellybeans from the firehouse for you.”

“Jellybeans?”

“Quickest way to get your blood sugar up.” Eddie takes the packet out and waves it around. “See?”

“How romantic,” Buck says, “my own knight in a LAFD t-shirt, stealing jellybeans for me so I don’t faint like a mid-century princess trapped in a corset.”

Eddie laughs, surprised. “I didn’t bring scissors, so if you need help with a corset, I’m out.”

Buck smiles. He seems like he’s in better spirits, and something inside Eddie eases at the sight. Buck’s been absent the last three days, the longest stretch of time Eddie’s known him to not be here. He was worried. Maybe weirdly so.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he admits. “I was worried about you.”

“How come?”

“You nearly fainted at work and then weren’t here for three days.”

Buck looks pleased. “You came to look for me?” he asks, and Eddie wants to refute him – Buck’s wormed his way into Eddie’s heart with his razor wit and occasionally soft moments – but he doesn’t. If he thinks about it, looking for Buck was exactly what he was doing.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Just wanted to make sure you were alright, that’s all.”

Buck smiles. “Yeah. I’m alright. I took a few days off – they kind of wanted me to after that. And the creepy dudes aren’t here.”

“Good,” Eddie says, and Buck sticks his order up in the kitchen and they’re back to business.

Well. Almost.

Eddie knows that bartending is as much of a social exercise as it is a hospitality one. Still, he’s never seen Buck openly flirt his way into selling a few more drinks, and as he sits there, he watches just that happen – first, with two women who giggle about him as he leaves, and once with a man only a few years older than Eddie.

He feels – well, a little wounded, to be honest. Buck isn’t his, but it sort of feels like it might’ve been heading that way, and Eddie doesn’t want to think that Buck just chooses when to turn on the charm with him, like some intermittent reward system that keeps him hooked.

Like Shannon.

“Why the long face?” Buck asks, and Eddie blinks up at him. He’s made his way back, and he looks relaxed. At ease.

“No reason,” Eddie says.

Buck frowns. “C’mon, you stopped me having a really uncool death by low blood sugar. I owe you one.”

“It’s really nothing,” Eddie says with a little smile.

Buck tilts his head. “Is it them?” he asks, looking in the direction of the other customers. “Just remember, Eddie, I loved you first.”

Eddie barks a surprised laugh. “Really?”

“Yeah. Why do you think I keep coming back to talk to you and not them?” Buck’s eyes almost twinkle as he says it.

“Because I let you treat me like an alcoholic guinea pig?”

“Okay, well, sort of,” Buck says, and Eddie laughs. Suddenly, he feels a lot better.

~*~

Eddie’s not exactly familiar with the clubbing scene anymore.

He goes to the Prohibition, because Buck invited him and Eddie wants to be there if Buck invited him. There’s security on the door and he tries not to be wounded when he doesn’t get carded. It’s been a few years since that happened, and a few traumas.

The Prohibition – normally relatively quiet during the day – is seething with life. When Buck had said there was a live band playing, he had figured that would mean they had instruments – but there’s a large stage setup at the back of the room with people on it, and the lights in the room are turning the paint on people’s bodies fluorescent, and the energy of the place seeps into Eddie’s skin within a few seconds of him stepping inside.

The place is alive. More alive than anything he’s experienced in recent memory – bodies are moving and swaying together, skin on skin, hair tossed over shoulders and music throbbing through the entire place. It takes his brain offline, and he lets it.

He scans the crowd, unsurprised to find Buck behind the bar. He pushes his way through the crowd to get to it, sets himself up at his usual corner. Truthfully, he only came here for Buck. He doesn’t care much about the rest.

Buck’s been painted as well. There are whorls of blue-white paint down his arms, outlining his cheekbones and forehead. There’s even some at the inner and outer corners of his eyes, and he looks – well, he looks fucking gorgeous, as always.

“You made it,” he yells over the music.

“You promised me cheap booze! Of course I did!”

Buck laughs, grabs a glass down, and starts making him something. The song changes, and an elated cry sounds out over the entire room, three or four hundred people who clearly approve of the DJ’s music choice.

“Here,” Buck yells over the music, sliding Eddie his drink. “I gotta go out on the floor.”

“Why?”

“Because I work here, allegedly.” Buck grins, makes him a second drink. “You’ll be okay without me.”

Eddie likes it when Buck occasionally teases him. It feels familiar, like they’re on an even playing field. He watches, helpless, as Buck picks up one of those little beaker shots he had a week ago and slams it back, giving Eddie a little smirk on the way out to the floor.

If Eddie examines it, he can see that there’s a thin line between the real Buck – who seems a little unsure of who to trust and desperate to form some sort of a human connection, even beyond that hesitation – and bartender Buck, who moves like he’s got muscles made of melted metal and smiles like he could cut you open with it. They’re both attractive – the problem is, one is hard to get to know, and the other isn’t real. Not entirely.

He downs the first drink, turns around to see Buck still amongst the crowd. He’s got a gaggle of girls near him, and, across the room, at least two guys around Eddie’s age watching him.

Irritation licks his belly, and he turns back to his drink. None of those people even know Buck, he thinks to himself sourly. They just think he’s pretty.

Admittedly, Eddie doesn’t really know Buck that well either. But he’s trying. If Buck would just give a little…

He downs his next drink, so caught up in his thoughts and confusion that he doesn’t notice Buck’s failure to return until the woman next to him complains that there’s only one bartender available. That’s when Eddie sits up and looks around.

He can’t spot Buck anywhere.

He stands up, looks around, still can’t spot. Without thinking about paying for the drink, he leaves the counter and threads his way methodically through the club, but can’t spot hide or hair of Buck on the floor.

He probably just went to the bathroom, but Eddie’s sixth sense is going haywire so he heads to the bathroom – Buck is also absent from there.

He calls Buck’s name as he leaves, but the club is so loud he can’t even hear himself. He manages to find his way to a back door, steps outside to clear his head and hopefully figure out a way to locate Buck.

Only to step into the alley – it’s freezing and drizzling rain, signs that winter may actually come to L.A this year – and see Buck, sitting on the ground next to a dumpster.

“Buck?” he demands.

Buck lifts his head blearily. He’s pale in the harsh street light spilling in from the main drag, and Eddie notices him shivering.

“What’re you doing out here?” Eddie asks, stepping down and going over to him. “There’s a bunch of girls waiting to order drinks in there.”

Buck doesn’t respond to him, just blinks at him. Eddie notes that his pupils are blown wide, and when he gets close enough, he can hear Buck panting like he’s run miles.

“Buck?” he asks worriedly, and kneels down. Buck flinches from his touch initially, but settles when he notices it’s just Eddie. He’s clammy to the touch, and Eddie has no idea how long he’s been out here – but he’s shivering, and Eddie can see his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Fuck. This is definitely drugs, at a bare minimum, maybe even an overdose. He lets his fingers settle in against Buck’s pulse point, at his neck, alarmed to feel how fast it’s flying along.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” he says, reaching for his phone.

Buck lunges for him. “Don’t,” he slurs, tipping sideways. “M’not sick.”

“Yeah, you’re drugged, which is basically the same thing except I have no idea what you’ve taken,” Eddie snaps, inexplicably disappointed that Buck would take something at work.

“I’m drugged?” Buck mumbles, trying to open his eyes.

Eddie pauses. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “What’d you take?”

“Didn’t.” Buck finally gets his eyes open, pins Eddie with a helpless stare. “Didn’t. Just took…” He seems at a loss, then, and mimes taking a shot.

“Right,” Eddie says, a creeping dread beginning to settle over him. “Buck, I really want to get you an ambulance. You don’t look or sound good.”

“Am I dying?” Buck asks, a little belligerently.

“I mean, I don’t know, because I haven’t been able to check you properly,” Eddie says, frustrated. “Can you stand? I wanna get you out of this alleyway.”

Buck totters to his feet with Eddie’s help, but he’s wobbly and leans on the alleyway wall, smearing it with fluorescent paint. “I think you need to go home,” Eddie says slowly. “Well, you really need to go get checked out at a hospital-”

Buck shakes his head so hard he almost topples over.

“But home is better,” Eddie sighs. “I guess.” He steadies Buck a little. “Let’s get you out of here, Buck.”

“Bus?” Buck asks, blearily.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Eddie mutters.

Buck doesn’t argue with him, just stumbles along when Eddie pries him away from the wall of the building and gets Buck’s arm over his shoulders. It’s anything but a brisk walk back to the car – Buck is staggering, and he’s looking around like he doesn’t know where he is.

“Eddie?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“You’re Eddie?”

Eddie’s stomach lurches. “Yeah, Buck, it’s Eddie. I’m taking you home, okay?”

It’s a team effort to get Buck’s long legs into the car and to get the seatbelt on. Buck’s breathing is still fast, and Eddie pauses before he goes to the driver’s side, taking in how blown Buck’s pupils are. It could be because of whatever he’s taken – it could also be that it’s dark. It’s hard to say.

Eddie pulls his phone out, turns the flashlight on, and puts a hand on Buck’s forehead to keep him still as he flashes the light into Buck’s eyes.

Buck winces, tries to pull away. “What the hell?” he mumbles.

“Sorry.” His pupils are dilating evenly, Eddie notes, and that’s good. “Just checking something.” He hesitates again. “I kind of want to get you an ambulance-”

“No,” Buck says, blinking.

Eddie bites his lip. It’s the second time Buck has refused an ambulance, and aside from the shallow, fast breathing, there doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him – he’s clearly impaired cognitively, but he’s conscious, answering questions. And Eddie can’t force him to accept medical care.

“Okay,” he says finally.

Buck dozes in the car. When they arrive back at Eddie’s apartment complex, Eddie gets out of the car, then heads around to Buck’s side, leans across him to unbuckle his seatbelt. Buck doesn’t move.

“C’mon, Buck,” he murmurs, shaking Buck’s shoulder a little. When that doesn’t elicit a response, he pinches the shell of Buck’s ear – thankfully, he doesn’t have to do it hard, because Buck does rouse with a wince.

“Ow,” he mumbles.

“Sorry. We’re here. You need help getting out of the car?”

Buck looks around blearily. “Here?”

“My place,” Eddie says, momentarily frustrated with Buck’s lack of drive to move. “Let’s go inside, yeah?”

He’s more grateful than ever that the place has an elevator, because while he can carry Chris up the stairs if need be, Buck is a fully-grown adult male who, despite his leanness, probably outweighs Eddie by a significant number of pounds. He props Buck up in the elevator, pinching his ear and rubbing his sternum intermittently to keep Buck awake.

He unlocks the door to the apartment and steps inside when they get there, turning on the light switches before coaxing Buck in. His eyeliner is smudged, and he’s still staggering a little – he blinks as he looks around, and Eddie realises Buck’s never been here before.

"Okay," Eddie says softly, steering Buck to the kitchen table. "Here. Sit here."

Buck sits, compliant, and crosses his arms across the table before putting his head down, blocking out the weak golden light from the kitchen. Eddie folds out the couch into a bed and rustles up some blankets and a pillow.

When he turns back, Buck is exactly where he left him. The shallow breathing has improved, but only a little. He stirs a little when Eddie puts a hand on his back, between his shoulders, and then again when Eddie touches the back of his hand to Buck's cheek.

He's chilled, but it was raining outside, and Eddie has no way of knowing how long Buck was out in the rain for. He's moving, anyway, responding to light touches, which is good. It's oddly intimate - placing his hand on Buck's back, being able to count the first few rungs of his spine, feeling him breathe. Everything seems abstract at this hour, he supposes.

"Can you get up?" he asks softly.

Buck stirs himself awake enough to lift his head, eyes squinted against the light and blurry. Eddie helps him to his feet, then over to the sofa bed. It's probably not going to be especially comfortable with Buck's height in play, but Eddie's not sure how Buck will react to waking up in someone else's bedroom.

Buck sits when Eddie nudges him a little, and not for the first time during the night, he worries about how agreeable Buck is like this. He can't imagine that Buck would take anything on purpose - he's seen Buck work people at the bar, men and women alike, but he always knows when to quit, when to cut his losses. He wouldn't take something on purpose, no matter how many favours it might win him.

"How we doing, Buck?" Eddie asks quietly, reaching out to rest his fingers against Buck's neck. His pulse is fluttering along quickly - his chest is still rising and falling faster than Eddie would prefer, but it's slowed down, and Buck's refused an ambulance twice.

Buck licks his lips. "Thirsty?" he says, as if it's a question.

"You want some water?" He knows the answer is yes, but if he can get Buck to agree to it, he'll know that cognitively, Buck's doing better.

Buck nods, and Eddie heads to the kitchen, gets a glass of water, and takes it back. Buck drinks clumsily, getting some on his shirt and jeans, but finishes off the glass.

"I'm gonna get changed," Eddie says. "Are you okay here?"

Buck looks up, squints, and nods.

Eddie's about as convinced as he's gonna get, so he changes quickly into sweats and a sleeveless muscle shirt before headed back to the living room. Buck is struggling with the buckle on his belt, obviously intending to get changed too.

"Want some help?"

Buck nods, and Eddie leans over him to try and get his belt buckle undone. He's surprised when he feels Buck's hand on his shoulder, holding on for support, and his head on the other.

"Dizzy," he mumbles.

"Sorry. I'll get them off soon." Eddie divests him of his shoes first, then empties his pockets. He finally manages to peel the jeans off Buck's legs some minutes later, with Buck more or less asleep where he's sitting. He's wearing plain black boxer briefs, and Eddie determinedly doesn't look past where the seam on the thigh meets Buck's skin.

He's about to stand up straight before taking the advantage to assess Buck's breathing - shallow, but deepening. Hitching a little, but he's shivering, so that makes sense.

"Cold?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you cold? You're shivering."

"Little."

"Okay. You're sitting on the blankets."

"That's stupid of me."

Eddie laughs a little, maybe out of relief - it's the first full sentence Buck's spoken in hours. "Stand up," he encourages, and Buck wobbles to his feet with Eddie's help. Eddie tugs the blankets back, heart jumping as Buck leans against him - full bodied, trusting. Even shivering he feels warmed through to Eddie, like a furnace, and he tilts enough that Eddie's forced to wrap an arm around his waist as he tugs the blankets back.

"You got any idea which way is up?" Eddie asks, amused.

"Nngh?"

"I'm gonna take that as a no. Okay, into bed. That's it." With Buck settling into the blankets with a sigh, Eddie goes to the other side of the couch. He's not really tired, and he'd prefer to stay up for a little while with Buck, until his breathing goes back to normal.

Buck shuffles a little, backwards, until Eddie's thigh lines up with his shoulders, then finally sighs and settles properly, on his side. He doesn't seem bothered by the TV, so Eddie watches it quietly, feeling his eyes grow heavier and heavier.

At some point, his hand drifts down to Buck's neck, feels his pulse smooth and slow, normal. The relief is so intense is nearly knocks him out. Still, he knows he can't stay on the couch bed - Buck is going to be confused enough when he wakes up without Eddie half-naked next to him.

He puts a glass of water and two Tylenol on the side table near the couch, checks to make sure Buck's properly on his side, then heads off to his own bed. He stops briefly on the way to check in on Christopher - soundly asleep.

He's asleep the moment his head hits the pillow, deciding he'll sort everything out in the morning.

~*~

Eddie tiptoes into the living room the next day.

He doesn't need to worry - Buck is still crashed out on the couch bed, tangled in the sheets, arms tucked beneath the pillow Eddie found him. The morning sunlight is beaming directly into his hair, an astonishing splash of ink in Eddie's otherwise light apartment.

He peers over carefully. The bucket is empty, but the glass of water is full and the tablets are exactly where Eddie left them. Buck slept through the night.

He wants to check Buck's pulse, but thinks better of it, deciding to let him sleep. Instead, he steps into the kitchen and turns the kettle on, rustling around quietly for mugs and some of abuela's tea.

Buck, on the couch, makes a soft noise, halfway between a whimper and a moan. He lifts his head a little, winces, puts it back down. Obviously, he's not feeling great.

"Morning," Eddie says softly.

Buck's eyes flutter open wearily. He blinks - once, twice - and then tenses, raising his head properly before sitting up, wide-eyed and frightened.

"Where am I?"

"Hey, relax," Eddie says. "You're at my place. In my living room."

Buck blinks again, then closes his eyes and palms his face. "My head hurts," he groans. "I don't... I don't remember getting here. What happened?"

Eddie settles down on the side of the couch bed, cautious that it might freak Buck out when he's already clearly a little spooked. "I think you took something," he says softly. "You were pretty out of it. Found you hiding in an alleyway, brought you back here."

Buck digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, shoulders curling inward. When he straightens again, his eyeliner is even more smudged than it was, and his eyes are red, a little watery.

"You think I took something on purpose?" he asks, a little shaky.

Eddie watches him carefully. "I'm a firefighter," he says slowly. "I was a field medic in Afghanistan and I'm an EMT here. I know my shit. You were on something. Shallow breathing, sweating, confused. I don't know if you took it on purpose, but you had something, which is why I brought you back here."

"I could've caught the bus," Buck mumbles, not meeting Eddie's eyes.

"Oh, yeah, I was gonna load you onto the downtown bus while you were drug-fucked and lost," Eddie snaps. "A thank you would be nice."

There's a long pause. Buck stares at his lap, and while Eddie feels bad for snapping - Buck is clearly upset with the implication that he'd take drugs deliberately - he's gonna stand his ground on the thank you point.

"Thank you," Buck says, softly, startling Eddie. He raises his eyes, looking a little ashamed. "I - yeah, I'm glad I didn't take the bus. Thank you."

"That's okay," Eddie replies, surprised. "Look, I - I made you some tea, I don't know if you drink it but I'm not giving you caffeine like this."

Buck nods, and he continues to watch Eddie as Eddie goes to the kitchen and retrieves the tea. It's a blend his abuela put together, something that's supposed to help hangovers, and he's hoping it helps Buck, at least a little.

"Here," he says, settling back on the couch bed. He hands the mug over, and Buck takes it gingerly.

"Thanks."

Eddie watches as he drinks, breath catching a little at Buck's black eyelashes swooping against his pale cheeks - at his soft, curly black hair, askew from sleeping deeply, and the pillow creases that line his face. He still looks tired, but he looks a lot less anxious.

"It's good," Buck says finally, a little awkwardly. "What is it?"

"My abuela made it," Eddie says. "No idea what's actually in it."

To his surprise, Buck smiles. "Getting roofied twice in twenty four hours. You must like me."

Eddie barks out a surprised laugh. "Did you - did you just make a joke?"

"I guess so, yeah." Buck smiles down into his mug - Eddie shouldn't think it, but he really does look a lot nicer when he smiles, friendlier and more open and more in line with what his personality is actually like, Eddie suspects. He's even a little pink.

He hears clacking in the hallway then, and turns just in time to see Chris entering on his crutches, beaming. "Dad, good morning," he crows.

"Good morning, pal!" Eddie stands to pick Chris up for a hug while Buck watches, obviously a little startled by a six-year-old in the living room. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good. Bed bugs didn't bite." Chris presses a sticky kiss to his cheek. "Good morning, Dad's friend."

"Morning," Buck replies, almost by reflex. He’s blinking like he’s never seen a human child before.

"Chris, this is Buck," Eddie says, putting Chris down on the couch bed. "Buck, this is Chris - my son."

"You look sad," Chris notes, and sometimes it's great to have an observant kid, but sometimes it's a curse - like right now, with Buck's face slamming shut reflexively. "Is that why you have abuela's tea? Dad says it fixes everything."

"Um, yeah," Buck says. "It tastes pretty good. Do you know what's in it?"

Chris shrugs, exaggerated. "No. Neither does Dad. It's _mystery_ tea."

Buck smiles a little. "Right. Must be why it tastes so good."

Chris giggles, and Eddie stands up. "Okay, mijo," he says. "Go get ready for the day, okay? I'll get breakfast started."

"Okay," Chris says cheerfully, and heads down to the bathroom.

Buck's beginning to get off the couch, even as he goes white from the sudden movement. "I can go," he offers quickly. "I didn't - I didn't realise I'd be - sorry, man."

"What for?" Eddie asks, bewildered. "I brought you here. Hey, it's fine, okay? Couch is yours for as long as you feel like shit." He stands up once Buck has stopped moving. What the fuck happened to the guy that he thinks it's an imposition for being dragged into someone's house – because he was drugged? "You want breakfast?"

Buck has stopped moving now, mostly, looking sick for the effort. He hesitates, but nods.

"Okay. Hope pancakes and eggs are okay - that's all I can really do." He gestures. "Finish your tea. Chris will be back in about five minutes demanding your full attention."

"Eddie, wait," Buck says.

Eddie stops. Buck's hands are curled around the bright red mug Eddie somehow ended up with - it's abuela's, and he's never been sure how it made it into his collection. He looks a little worried.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks.

"Did you - did you see me with anyone last night?" Buck asks.

"No," Eddie replies, a little surprised. "Why's that?"

"No reason."

Eddie softens. "Is this about... whatever made you act like that last night?"

Buck shrugs, uncomfortable. "I just don't remember taking anything, that's all," he admits. "And I... I don't think I would have on purpose." He shakes his head, then rubs it again. "I wouldn't have done it on purpose."

"Buck, if someone roofied you, you should tell the cops," Eddie says. "I know one that-"

"No," Buck snaps, and his face is slammed shut and unfamiliar as if he hasn't just spent the last five minutes joking with Eddie. "No cops."

"Okay." Eddie holds his hands up. "No cops."

Buck stares back down at his mug, shoulders hunched protectively. Eddie rolls his eyes a little - like Buck hasn't just spent the night on his couch, not getting sexually assaulted or taken advantage of. He should know at this point that Eddie won't hurt him.

But he doesn't. For whatever reason, he doesn't.

Eddie grabs the throw rug off the back of an armchair and tosses it around Buck's shoulders. "Keep warm," he says. "You'll end up sick."

Buck looks up at him warily, sees nothing but a friendly smile, and softens a little bit. His shoulders unfurl. Eddie feels a little guilty, watching him - it might be frustrating to deal with Buck when he's like this, but there's a reason for it, and Eddie would sure feel embarrassed and a little freaked out if he woke up on a practical stranger's couch and ten hours of time totally missing.

"Do you have makeup remover?" Buck asks sheepishly.

Eddie laughs. "No," he replies, and reaches out, without thought, to push his thumb through the pitch-black smudge at the corner of Buck's left eye. "Fancy old soap and water here, pal."

Right as Buck looks up to meet his eyes, looking a little stunned, Chris clacks back into the room. "Do you like Ninja Turtles?" he asks.

"Everyone likes Ninja Turtles," Buck replies without missing a beat.

Eddie, satisfied that Buck isn't going to cut and run with Chris hanging off him, starts pancakes and eggs. He suspects that whatever was in Buck's system last night was GHB, but there's no way of knowing without a test, and Buck's made it clear he's not going to the cops or the hospital. All Eddie can do is try to feed him.

With the eggs done, he takes them over to the couch. "Here," he says to Buck softly.

Buck looks a little nauseated, but he takes the plate and cutlery.

"Eat," Eddie encourages, making sure Chris is absorbed in his TV show before continuing, "you need tryptophan to balance out the serotonin. Plenty of it in eggs. I know you don't feel like it, but you'll feel better."

"Thanks," Buck says, softly, and begins to eat.

Eddie finishes Christopher's pancakes and is going to make his own when he notices Buck watching Chris struggle with his knife and fork. He puts his own down, waits a few seconds, and then says, "Here, buddy, you want some help?"

"Yes please," Chris says, handing over his cutlery.

Eddie blinks. He's truthfully never seen anyone actually assess and ask rather than assume. Buck, with his black eyeliner and standoffishness and hesitancy in being in Eddie's space, seems like an unlikely candidate - but he's cutting Chris's pancakes into bite sized pieces, and Chris is watching him.

"What's on your eyes?" Chris asks.

"It's eyeliner. Makeup."

"Don't girls wear makeup?"

"Boys can wear makeup too."

"Oh." Chris seems to accept that. "Can I wear eyeliner?"

Buck laughs a little. "I don't think your dad is gonna like it much if I get you into eyeliner, kid. Maybe when you're older." He looks at Eddie as he says it, as if he's trying to gauge how Eddie actually feels about him wearing it. Truthfully, Eddie doesn't really care. To each their own or whatever.

"Okay," Chris says simply. "Want some pancake?"

"Yeah, I'll try some."

Chris stabs a piece and holds it to Buck's mouth - who doesn't even try to take the fork himself, just smiles and leans forward to eat the bit of pancake off it with Chris giggling at him. He seems at ease with Chris - like he's enjoying the company, almost. Eddie might've finally found Buck's soft spot.

Eddie sits down with his own breakfast, watching Buck and Christopher. Christopher seems fascinated with Buck - either because he's someone new, or because he looks a little different. He's still asking questions about the eyeliner, about what Buck does for work, about what Buck likes. Buck answers each question patiently, even a little enthusiastically.

Eddie does the dishes, listening to them chatter idly, and returns to the living room to find Chris sitting as close to Buck as he can get without physically being in the man's lap. He's dug up his Nintendo Switch and is showing Buck something on it.

When Eddie enters, he looks up, beams. "Daddy," he says, "can Buck come to the pier with us today?"

Buck looks up at Eddie, a little surprised, and Eddie smiles. It's been a long time since Chris took to anyone this way. "If he wants to," he replies.

"Please, Buck?" Chris begs. "Please? It'll be fun."

"Um, yeah, sure," Buck says. "If it's okay with your dad."

"It's okay with his dad," Eddie says dryly, and Chris cheers. "Go get ready, mijo."

Chris leaves to finish getting ready for the day, and Eddie smiles at Buck. Buck smiles back tentatively. "Is this okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, of course. If you don't want to, I can think up an excuse."

"No, I want to." Buck gestures towards the bathroom. "Uh - can I shower, though?"

"Yeah, I'll grab you a towel."

~*~

Buck showers and puts his jeans back on - Eddie finds him a pair of boxers he hasn't opened yet, as well as a t-shirt that looks like it'll fit well enough. When Buck steps out, his hair is curly from the steam and the eyeliner has been scrubbed off.

"Perfect," Eddie says, without thinking, and Buck goes a little pink. He scoops up his wallet and keys, tucks them into pockets before finding his phone. He looks removed in the context of Eddie's little life, but still like he could fit - like artwork, or a centrepiece. Something designed to be different either way.

They climb into Eddie's car and start the drive to the pier. Eddie momentarily worries about the paleness of Buck's skin, but he has sunscreen in the back somewhere with Chris's stuff. Chris, for his part, plays on the Switch.

"You feeling better?" Eddie asks.

Buck nods. "Yeah. You were right, the eggs helped." He rubs the back of his neck. "Look, I don't... really remember much from last night, but I'm guessing you brought me to your place. Thanks. For not leaving me there."

"I wouldn't have ever left you there, Buck," Eddie says gently. "You could've been stone-cold sober asking for a ride or a bed and I would've said yes."

Buck bites his lip. "Why?"

Why? Eddie hadn't thought about it, truthfully. "I like you," he says slowly. "I think you pretend to not like people to stop them from getting close or hurting you, and underneath all that I think you're probably really friendly and you're fun to be around."

Buck licks his lips. Eddie catches the movement from the corner of his eye, pretends he needs to focus on the road as Buck watches him.

"Plus, you're human," Eddie says softly. "I wouldn't have left you there. Not like that."

He catches Buck's smile, the way his eyes look somehow wider and brighter with it, how his shoulders ease. If Eddie had known that being frank would net him this result, instead of tiptoeing around the issue, he would've done it a long time ago.

"So," Eddie says, "more important than any of that, what kind of ice cream is your favourite?"

~*~

Buck sticks out at the pier, not that he seems to care.

He looks good wearing one of Eddie's basic t-shirts and his own jeans, and he seems more than happy to get on rides with Chris - which is good for Eddie, because it means he gets to take photos for once. He's still a little off his food, but he does eat. It makes Eddie feel marginally better.

When Chris gets tired, Buck volunteers to carry him for a while, letting Eddie take a breather after having carried him for most of the day. If they get a few stares - a kid with CP and Buck, with his wild black hair and general look - it, for once, doesn't bother Eddie in the slightest.

It does, apparently, bother Chris.

“People are looking at me,” he stutters to Eddie – the stutter has always been there, but it gets worse when he’s sad, or stressed out. “Is it ‘cause of my crutches?”

Before Eddie can fumble his way through an explanation, Buck intervenes. “They’re looking at me, kiddo,” he says, pausing to lick ice-cream off his wrist. “Because I’m wearing makeup and I’m a guy.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“That’s mean.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t bother me.”

Chris looks at him, and Eddie doesn’t interrupt, feeling like he’s witnessing something important. “How come?”

“How come it doesn’t bother me?” Buck clarifies.

“Yeah.”

Buck shrugs. “I know who I am and I like who I am. Sometimes people don’t get why I dress like this, but as long as I’m happy, it doesn’t matter, right?”

Eddie smiles at him as Chris ponders what he’s said. Then, “The Ninja Turtles don’t care they’re turtles.”

“Exactly,” Buck says.

~*~

After a day at the pier, Chris is well and truly knocked out and ready for a nap. Eddie carries the giant stuffed animal Buck won Chris at one of the games and Chris’s backpack, and Buck – well, Buck carries Chris.

“You don’t have to,” Eddie says as they head back to the car. “We can swap-”

“He’s not heavy,” Buck says, actually cheerful, and Eddie could swear he sees Buck press his nose to Chris’s blonde curls. “Besides, I love kids. In the not-creepy way.”

It is true that Buck has taken to being Chris’s new favourite friend like a duck to water. Truthfully, Eddie’s used to being on the defensive when it comes to Chris – against other kids, against teachers, against his own parents, who think Chris is better off with them. But Buck hasn’t really given him a reason to be.

“You’re good with him,” Eddie notes.

“I’m here every day of the week,” Buck says graciously, and Eddie laughs.

With Chris strapped into his car seat and everything else in the trunk, they head off. Eddie has to drop Buck home still – Buck insisted on a bus, but Eddie’s not happy with that. Not after last night.

When they pull up, Chris is still asleep. Buck smiles awkwardly at him.

“Thanks. For last night, I… I’m glad you were there.”

“So am I,” Eddie admits. “You feeling better?”

Buck shrugs. “A little. I’ll sleep it off.”

Eddie pauses, then holds out his hand. “Give me your phone?” he asks.

Buck hands it over without asking why, and Eddie plugs his number into it. “This is my number,” he explains, probably redundantly judging by the little smile that’s settled into the corner of Buck’s mouth. “If you’re still feeling shitty in a few hours, call me, okay? You refused the ambulance twice last night. There’s no way of knowing what you took. I don’t want you to get worse.”

“Okay,” Buck agrees easily. “Hey, you… don’t think I took it on purpose, right?”

“No,” Eddie says truthfully. “No, I don’t think that.”

“Okay. Good.” Buck winces. “I used to. I don’t anymore. I’m – yeah. I don’t anymore.”

“Last night,” Eddie says curiously, “do you know what it was? Did it feel familiar?”

“No,” Buck admits, “but when I was like eighteen I saw someone overdose on GHB. It sort of felt like what that looked like.”

“Yeah, GHB was my best guess.” Eddie takes him in – he looks pretty, in the sunlight, with his black hair and big blue eyes. “Be careful, yeah? Someone must’ve put it in your drink. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Buck smiles. “I’ll be careful, Eddie. Thanks for the ride. And the pier. It was fun.”

“Anytime,” Eddie says, and Buck slips out of the car. Eddie watches him jog up the steps to his building – waits until he can see Buck’s shape moving around in the top floor window.

He sighs. Falling head over heels wasn’t exactly part of the agenda, but then again, it never is.

~*~

He worries a little about Buck that night, which Buck must somehow sense, because he sends Eddie a text at around dinnertime.

 **From** : (213) 713-7888, 6:18PM

Not dead or dying :)

Accompanying the text is a picture of a smoothie and a PlayStation controller. Eddie smiles – this has to be from Buck. And it’s kind of nice, honestly, to be thought of.

 **To** : (213) 713-7888, 6:19PM

Glad to hear it. Quiet night in?

He winces even as he hits send and changes the random phone number to Buck’s name in his contacts. “Quiet night in,” he mutters to himself. “That’s a really interesting conversation starter, Diaz.”

 **From** : Buck, 6:19PM

Yeah working a 10 hour shift tomorrow :’( you?

Eddie makes a note of that – it’s his day off tomorrow, but he might swing by just to check things are alright.

 **To** : Buck, 6:20PM

Staying in with my little man. We’re going to watch the land before time… seventh time in four days. Parenting is fun

He’s cutting up chicken when his phone pings with the reply.

 **From** : Buck, 6:23PM

Don’t talk shit about Littlefoot and his mom that movie was my childhood

Eddie laughs aloud, and Chris looks at him from the living room. “Is that Bucky?” he asks.

Eddie quirks his eyebrows. “Bucky?” he asks.

“He said I can call him Bucky,” Chris insists. “Is that him? I like him. He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty cool, huh? I like him too.”

Chris nods seriously. “You should marry him.”

Eddie chokes on the mouthful of beer he just tried to swallow. “What? Marry him?”

“He’s nice and you like him,” Chris insists. “You should ask him if he likes boys and then you should marry him.”

Dios but sometimes his kid being perceptive freaks him out. He can feel himself blushing – over the relationship advice of a six-year-old. He’s never even thought to ask whether Buck likes guys, and he doubts Buck would be forthcoming with the information if he was directly asked. He’s… sort of assumed, based off interactions Eddie’s witnessed him having at work, but…

“And if he doesn’t like boys?” Eddie asks.

Chris considers that for a moment. “Marry him anyway.”

“I don’t think it works like that, pal.”

~*~

He feels inexplicably nervous when he pulls up outside The Prohibition the next day to see Buck.

He’d spent the night thinking about Buck and how easily he trusted Eddie, about how easily he got along with Christopher. And, okay, maybe how pretty he is as well, but Eddie’s only human.

When he enters, he spots Buck right away. It’s hard not to, with the dude being six-two and kind of standing out with his fashion choices.

"Hey," Eddie says.

Buck looks up. He's been wiping down tables and he's wearing jeans that cling to his thighs but sit dangerously low on his hips, and there's a tiny sliver of skin showing between his belt and the hem of his sleeveless shirt.

"Hey," Buck replies, and he looks around for a moment before relaxing some. "This isn't your normal time."

"Just wanted to see how you were doing after yesterday," Eddie says. "Did you pull up okay?"

"Yeah, I feel fine now." Buck tosses the rag over his shoulder, eyeing Eddie curiously. "You never come in before work."

"I'm not working today," Eddie says. "Special visit." _Are you attracted to dudes and more importantly are you attracted to me?_

Buck's mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but is refraining, for whatever reason. "Well. If it's a special visit, you wanna try out one of my new creations?"

"More than happy to," Eddie says, following Buck and desperately trying to keep his eyes off the little bit of skin showing at hip level. "What's in it?"

"I'll tell you after you've had some."

Eddie spends nearly two hours there, talking, nursing one drink that goes lukewarm just to have an excuse to stay. Every now and then Buck has to drift off to serve other people, and Eddie doesn't miss the way some of the other patrons leer at him. It figures that Eddie wouldn't be the only one who thinks Buck's gorgeous. People in L.A do have eyes after all.

"I'm done," Buck announces, sometime around four.

"Done? Really?"

"I'm just covering today." He ditches the rag and steps out from behind the bar. "Nice to be finished early."

"Have you got plans?" Eddie blurts, and immediately wants to take it back as his face flames a little. He’s just not smooth – he never really has been, with people he actually cares about, and it’s probably becoming more and more painfully obvious to Buck.

Buck smiles, all teeth. "No. Why?"

"I have a whole list of shit to get through on Netflix, and Chris is at abuela's today," Eddie says. "Are you in?"

"Can we stop for snacks?"

~*~

When they get back to Eddie's, it's golden hour, and the sun is piercing through the windows in a way that makes Buck's hair look almost gold.

“Sorry if I fall asleep,” Buck says as they enter. “I’m kind of shit at staying awake through movies.”

“I guess you would be if you’re working until three in the morning most days,” Eddie teases. “Anyway, I’m not exactly the world’s greatest chef, so I hope pizza sounds okay.”

They could just sprawl out on the couch. That’s absolutely a thing they could do. But they don’t – Buck meanders into the kitchen and begins making something, saying that Eddie has to eat something other than pizza, and in the meantime, Eddie folds out the couch into the bed. More room to stretch out, he reasons with himself, given that he and Buck are two full-grown men.

Buck whips up stir fry with things he finds in Eddie’s kitchen and brings them both bowls and cutlery. He already looks tired, and he’s blinking as he settles in on the couch.

If this was a woman, Eddie might put the moves on her already. But it isn’t. It’s Buck, and somehow that’s different. He’s nervous around Buck. Buck’s different – important.

“Early start?” Eddie asks, keeping his voice quiet.

Buck nods. “We’ve gone twenty-four hour,” he says. “So that shift workers can come in and get a meal. I started at six today. If I fall asleep…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just assume you think I’m boring.” He smiles. “You working tomorrow?”

“Day off,” Buck yawns. “Thank God.”

They eat dinner – Buck’s managed a stir fry and coconut rice with what he found in Eddie’s fridge and pantry – and get all the way through some terrible new B-grade horror film on Netflix before Buck falls asleep.

Eddie doesn’t have the heart to wake him, truthfully. He lets Buck sleep, knowing he doesn’t have to work tomorrow, and continues to watch Netflix, content with good company (even if said company is fast asleep).

What he didn’t count on was also passing out, without having the presence of mind to go to his own bed.

~*~

When he wakes in the morning, it’s to a knock on the front door.

His brain registers a good dozen things at once – that it’s daylight; that someone’s knocking; that he’s passed out on the couch bed in the living room, with Netflix asking if he’s still there.

That Buck has decided his chest is an appropriate pillow, and that he seems to have draped himself over Eddie like a strangely-shaped blanket during the night. His arm is curled around Buck’s shoulders, and Buck’s got one long leg tossed over his hips.

For a moment, the rest of the world fades away, and Eddie luxuriates in the sensation of someone else’s body against his, skin on skin, Buck’s crisp, clean scent all over his sheets and pillows and clothes like he’s invaded without Eddie’s notice. For a few seconds, he simply listens to Buck breathe, stares down at the swoop of eyelashes against his cheeks, unable to remember what roused him initially.

“Nieto,” abuela’s voice calls.

Eddie carefully extricates himself from Buck’s grasp – leaving the younger man mumbling in confusion – and hurries to the door.

Abuela smiles at him from the other side, and Chris crows, “Good morning, Dad!” and hugs his legs awkwardly. The moment abuela takes in Eddie’s appearance – dishevelled, and in the same clothes he wore yesterday – she looks over his shoulder.

“Ah, who is this?” she asks slyly.

“A friend,” Eddie splutters, in what might be the most unconvincing lie he’s ever told.

Buck has managed to rouse himself – he blinks a little, then smiles as he sees that they have company. His hair is wildly askew, and he looks like he’s not fully conscious yet. “Good morning,” he says, a little shy, “I’m Buck.”

Abuela gives Eddie a look – a “oh, a friend, huh?” look – and enters his apartment after Christopher. “Nice to meet you, Buck,” she says, smiling at him. “I’m Eddie’s grandmother. Isabel.” She leans down and gives Buck a kiss on the cheek – a standard way of greeting, for her. “You look peaky,” she comments.

“Abuela,” Eddie groans.

Buck laughs. “I’m uh, I’m just pale.”

“Buck, Buck!” Chris crows, headed to the couch and gesturing that he wants up. Buck lifts him without further prompting. “I drew you and Daddy!”

“You did, huh? Let’s see!”

Abuela joins Eddie in the kitchen, where he’s making coffee and trying very hard not to be seen. “He seems like a lovely boy,” she comments knowingly. “Good with Christopher.”

“Yeah, he is,” Eddie mumbles, feeling his cheeks flame with embarrassment.

Abuela touches his arm. “If you want to move on from Shannon, nieto,” she says softly, “no one would judge you. You need to be kind to yourself as well.”

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat. “Yeah. I know.”

~*~

He’s afraid of pain.

He’s not just afraid of pain. He’s afraid that he could spend months – years – building a life with someone and that one day, they could change their minds. Decide they don’t want that anymore. Decide that he’s too broken, after everything, to be worth trying to fix.

It’s not that he thinks Buck will hurt him on purpose. It’s that he thinks the moment Buck gets too close, he’ll realise how messed up Eddie is, how much baggage he has, and he’ll leave. And Eddie – well, Eddie can’t take that. He couldn’t, not again.

He’s subdued when he gets off work on Friday – it’s been a quiet one, only two call-outs in the first few hours and then nothing else, and it’s left him with nothing to do except lie in the sleeping quarters, horribly awake and contemplative.

As he exits, grateful for the heat in his car – it’s raining more than he expected it to be – he notes a familiar head of black hair standing at the bus stop outside The Prohibition.

He swings the car around, pulls into the parking lot, and hops out. It’s a brisk walk to the bus stop, and Buck looks up as he approaches.

His face splits into a smile, loosening something in Eddie’s gut. When he’s around Buck, it’s easy to tell that Buck won’t hurt him. When he’s not around, Eddie forgets, somehow.

“What’re you doing here?” Buck asks.

“I saw you standing in the rain and thought I’d offer you a lift.” Eddie doesn’t like the idea of Buck standing out here, less than a week after being roofied by some unknown person at his work, in the rain. He can see Buck shivering.

“It’s completely out of your way, though,” Buck says, and he is right, it is on the other side of town. “What about Chris?”

“He’s with abuela.” Eddie gestures. “C’mon, you’re gonna catch a cold.”

“Did you know you can’t catch colds from the weather?” Buck asks, falling into step with him. “Not by itself anyway.”

Only one token protest instead of three, Eddie notes. This thing is really going places.

When they get into the car, Eddie reaches into the back seat for the blanket he keeps for long car trips with Chris, in case Chris gets cold. Buck takes it – no complaint – and buries himself beneath it for the duration of the trip.

When they pull up, Buck smiles. “Thanks.”

“No problem. You weren’t getting any dryer standing in the rain like that.”

For a moment, they sit there, with Buck’s building looming over them. He’s given Buck rides before, to home even, but he's never been inside and Eddie wonders what it looks like. What Buck decorates his apartment with, if he has flatmates - if he has anyone.

“I’ll um, I’ll wash that shirt I borrowed, too,” Buck says. “Bring it in tomorrow.”

"Okay," Eddie says, simply.

Buck chews his lip for a moment, eyes big in his face. He looks pale – but he usually does, and the cold probably doesn’t help.

“Thanks, Eddie,” he says, again.

"Anytime."

Buck hesitates. Then he leans over and, to Eddie's shock, presses a kiss to his cheek before hopping out of the car without so much as a backward glance.

Eddie sits there for a long time. Then he resolves to go home, beg his abuela to make some food, and bring it back the next day.

~*~

Buck, surprisingly, opens the door when he knocks.

He does look surprised to see Eddie, and a little tired, like he slept but not well. "Eddie?" he asks hesitantly.

Eddie holds up the bag. "Abuela made you food," he says.

"Your grandma made me food?"

"Yeah.” He struggles with the next few words; Buck looks really fucking tired, and he wonders if maybe he should’ve called ahead. Maybe Buck had plans. “I uh – you look thin again. That’s all.”

“Oh.” Buck blinks. “Yeah, I’ve had a cold. It’s fine, just not hungry.” He steps back to let Eddie in. “Sorry, just took me by surprise.”

Buck’s apartment is a studio, which is the first thing Eddie notices, closely followed by the realisation that almost every surface is littered with paint brushes and canvases. A king-sized bed, mounted on a pallet, is shoved into the corner under the windows and partially hidden behind a screen; the larger living space is taken up with a massive grey couch and industrial-looking coffee table. The whole place is open-plan, with a little kitchen splitting off into double bar counter and a bathroom, tucked away near the front door.

Buck's bedsheets are grey and navy blue. That feels important to know. They're rumpled, and he notices that Buck is wearing plaid pants and a plain black t-shirt.

"Did I wake you up?"

"Nah. I wasn't really sleeping." Buck puts the bag on the counter, starts to unpack it. "Wow. Your grandma really went in hard on cooking for me. Did you tell her I'm a saint?"

"Just that you're important," Eddie says, deciding to push a little.

Buck definitely blushes at that; he runs a hand through his hair, only frustrating Eddie more than what he already is. "Thanks, Eddie. This is really nice. Nobody... nobody's ever really done this for me before."

"They should have," Eddie says frankly. "How're you feeling, anyway?"

“How am I feeling?”

“You said you had kind of a cold,” Eddie says.

“Oh. A little stuffy, just not sleeping great. I uh – thanks for the ride home last night.” Buck fidgets with the plastic handles of the bag for a moment, almost nervously, his head a little down as he thinks. "I - look, I'm... sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night, I kind of do that to most people and you've been really good to me, so-"

"The kissing thing or the uncomfortable thing?"

"Huh?"

"You said you do it to most people. So... the kissing thing, or the uncomfortable thing?" He can’t believe he’s saying it aloud. That he’s going ahead with whatever half-cocked plan he had when he drove around here.

Buck blinks at him, face tinged red. "The uncomfortable thing," he mumbles. "I don't just go around kissing random people."

"Good," Eddie says, pleasantly, and Buck finally meets his eyes. "I wasn't uncomfortable, just wondering if I'm special."

Buck smiles. It's genuine, shows off his teeth and crinkles his eyes up in the corners, makes him look five years younger and guileless.

"Dios," Eddie groans, "you're so _pretty_."

"Fuck off," Buck says, but he's grinning.

~*~

While things remain relatively platonic between them, at least for now, something has shifted.

Buck is less reluctant to take Eddie up on rides home, and Eddie is spending more and more of his available time hanging out at the bar towards closing, happy to help out. He still works, of course, and has Christopher, but it's nice to know that Buck seems to want to see him.

He's dropped pretences around Eddie, which is amazing, and the aloof exterior he was so desperately projecting has given way to a genuinely soft, goofy person. He's even happy to horse around with Chris, which is amazing. He doesn't ask questions about Chris's CP - just finds a way around its limitations if he has to.

When his firefighting life and his... whatever with Buck intersect, it's a Thursday. He's washing up the trucks out back when Chim calls his name, and he turns.

It's weird, seeing Chim - who's all of five foot six and grinning slyly in his LAFD uniform - next to Buck, who looks a little more reserved than Eddie's become used to seeing. Still, Buck looks really nice today, wearing a sleeveless shirt to keep cool in the weather and black jeans that hug his thighs. If Eddie squints, he might've ditched the eyeliner too.

"Found something of yours," Chimney says, causing Buck to go a little pink and Eddie to roll his eyes.

"Sorry about Chim, Buck. He doesn't know how to socialise with people." Eddie sprays the hose at his feet threateningly, and Chim laughs as he leaves. "How'd you get here?"

"Walked," Buck says, which - yeah, of course. It’s only really across the road, down a block or so. "Uh, are you guys allowed to certify documents?"

"Yeah, we are. What've you got?"

Buck hands over a plastic folder he's been carrying. Eddie certifies as he goes, noticing that they're mostly forms of ID. He tries not to smile when he sees Buck’s licence – which, doing the math, was taken when he was only eighteen. He’s a lot more baby-faced in the photo, looking like he’s still growing into his bone structure, and seems awkward about having his photo taken.

“Cute,” Eddie teases. “Little baby Buck.”

“Shut up,” Buck grumbles, and Eddie laughs – like Buck isn’t sort of a baby still anyway. “I need to get a new one.”

“Aw, I like this one,” Eddie says, faux-disappointed. “What’s this for, anyway?”

"I'm applying for a job," Buck says. "I dunno, after getting roofied at the bar I don't think I want to keep working there."

"I feel like that's fair," Eddie notes, and Buck smiles. "You could've gone to a chemist."

Buck looks down at his feet, seemingly interested in the shoes he wears every single day. “You come see me at The Prohibition all the time,” he mumbles, a little shyly. "Maybe I just wanted to come see... where you work."

"Where I work, right." Eddie hands the documents back; Buck's still smiling, looking a little shy but mostly just pleased that Eddie didn't react badly.

"Diaz!"

He winces, turns. Bobby's a good captain, but sometimes he's too concerned with what they're all doing with their lives. The mother henning can cause issues with hiding things.

"Hey, Cap," Eddie says.

"Who's this?" Bobby's eyes rake over Buck, and Eddie can almost feel him shutting down, wanting to leave. Bobby assesses everyone like this, not just Buck, but Buck wouldn't know that.

"This is Buck," Eddie says quickly. "He's the one who makes the great drinks over at the bar on fourteenth. He just needed some documents certified."

Bobby holds out a hand, and Buck shakes it after a millisecond of surprise. "Nice to meet you, Buck," he says sincerely. "Have you had lunch? We're about to eat."

"Uh, no, I haven't eaten," Buck says. "If that's okay-"

"The more the merrier," Bobby says with a light, amused smile. "Come on up when you're ready."

Eddie smiles at Buck, who’s looking a little awkward. “Tour?” he asks.

“Are you sure it’s fine I’m here?”

“More than fine,” Eddie says. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

He shows Buck around the truck bay, around the equipment rooms and hallways and the training centres. Buck’s quiet, and Eddie has to remind himself that Buck was like this when they met – once he’s sure of his surroundings, he’ll be fine.

They head upstairs to lunch after a tour around the place, and Buck drifts over to the kitchen to help out. Eddie’s putting out cutlery when Hen says, “Who is that?”

“That’s Buck,” Chimney says slyly. “Eddie’s friend.”

“You don’t need to use air quotes,” Eddie grumbles.

“He’s gorgeous,” Hen says, eyebrows raised as she takes Buck in – six-two of pale skin and lean, defined muscles, the dark hair, the big blue eyes. There are a few tattoos peeking out from the neck of the sleeveless shirt he’s wearing. “And I like girls.”

“Eddie,” Bobby calls, and Eddie heads over, noting with relief that both men are smiling, Buck a little reservedly. “You didn’t say Buck liked cooking.”

“I didn’t really know,” Eddie admits.

“I did some in South America,” Buck explains. “Cooking, that is. Along with the bartending.”

“Well, you’re welcome to be my sous-chef anytime,” Bobby says, his eyes approving at they rake over Buck, then flit to Eddie. “Getting any of these guys to help me in the kitchen is like pulling teeth.”

“I try!” Eddie splutters.

“You could burn pasta, Diaz,” Hen scoffs.

“Not could,” Chimney adds helpfully. “Has. Multiple times.”

Buck gives him a dismayed look. “You burned pasta?”

“Okay, I’m officially regretting introducing all of you,” Eddie mutters, and everyone laughs.

~*~

"They were nice."

Eddie's giving Buck a ride home, with the intention of coming inside and maybe getting Buck to eat some pizza - he's looking thin again. They did just eat, but hey, Buck can put it in the fridge for later.

"Yeah. They're pretty great." Eddie pulls into the street; sure enough, Buck invites him inside, and Eddie goes - rings up to order pizza on the way up, getting them one each because then Buck will have calorie-dense leftovers.

When he enters, he takes in the space - the king-sized pallet bed and the kitchen counter and the couch, the drawings in progress that Buck has scattered on the battered coffee table and the ones he's finished on the walls, the fridge.

Eddie steps over the coffee table, noting that the most recent in-progress picture is one of him, standing at the kitchen counter, making breakfast. Everything is perfect, anatomically correct - right down to his slightly sharper than average canines and the five o’clock shadow.

"This is incredible," Eddie murmurs.

Buck blushes. "Just sketches."

"It looks real." Eddie looks around. "Do you sell any of this stuff?"

Buck shrugs. "It's sort of just a hobby," he says. "I've only gotten good at it in the last couple of years. I guess I could."

“I’ve still got the one you gave me,” Eddie says.

“What? That one I drew on the note paper?” Buck blinks. “I mean, that wasn’t…”

He looks like he’s wrestling with himself for a moment, then goes to a sketch book lying on his bed and picks it up, flips through the pages, then pulls one out.

“This one is finished,” he says, handing it over. He’s blushing furiously now. “And actually good.”

Eddie sucks in a breath as he looks at it – it’s Chris, sitting on Eddie’s lap at the pier, his head tilted back in a laugh. Just like the rest, it’s perfect – Buck’s even captured the missing front right tooth and the scrape Chris had on his elbow that day.

“Keep it,” Buck mumbles.

“Keep it? Buck, this is… I don’t…”

“I want you to have it.” Buck looks embarrassed. “Probably creepy to be drawing your kid anyway-”

Eddie steps forward and hugs him tightly, relieved when Buck sinks into it like he was craving it. “It’s not,” he says. “God, Buck, thank you. It’s amazing. Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure. I’m glad you like it.”

Eddie resists the temptation to bury his nose in Buck’s neck, or stroke his hair, which looks incredibly soft and inviting. Instead, he pulls away.

“I ordered pizza,” he says, feeling a little flustered and awkward as they stand just shy of too close together, with the picture clutched awkwardly in his hand. “Hope barbeque chicken is okay.”

Buck smiles. “Sure is.”

~*~

His phone pings around nine in the evening.

He picks it up, flicks the text open when he sees it's from Buck. They’d spent a few hours together, after Eddie had ordered pizza, and he has the feeling that if he hadn’t had to pick up Chris, Buck might’ve asked him to stay the night. Even with one bed.

(The couch was more than big enough for two grown men, but while eating and watching Netflix, Buck had managed to scoot close enough to press their thighs together. Eddie refuses to believe it was an accident. He’s just kicking himself for not going when the light was green.)

Buck’s sent him a picture text, and Eddie’s expecting more of the usual – something that sums up his plans for the night, usually a run outside or a smoothie in front of the TV. He’s not expecting what he ends up with.

Buck's sitting up in bed, shirtless, curls wild and muscles on display. The duvet is only partially covering his lap. The tattoo on his forearm is visible, and there’s more on his chest that Eddie was only theoretically aware of, and he's taking it with his phone camera in the mirror.

Both his nipples are pierced. With little silver rings. Eddie’s cock fills with blood and he’s sweating by the time he gets to the caption.

 **From** : Buck, 9:12PM: I can't sleep :(

It's the emoji that gets him. It's the emoji and its dorky little face, like Buck is challenging him to do something about it. It’s the emoji and the realisation that he’s never seen Buck shirtless before, and wasn’t really expecting him to be – well, kind of ripped.

But it’s mostly the emoji. That fucking sadface emoji. _I messaged you because I'm bored_ is what that emoji says. _Fix it_.

He skips texting and goes straight to a phone call. Buck answers almost straight away. "Hey," he says.

"Nice tattoos," Eddie says by way of greeting. He has to keep his voice low - Chris is sleeping - but he leans back into his pillows, pushes his open laptop off his lap.

Buck chuckles. It's a deep, warm sound. "Thanks."

There's a pause. It's not uncomfortable, just quiet. Easy. Then Eddie says, "So you're bored and you text me that photo, huh?"

"Yeah." He can almost see Buck chewing his lip. "Is that fine?"

Eddie takes a leap, because he has to. He wants to. He’s sure he’s not reading things wrong at this point – Buck’s waiting on him to make a move. "Are you still in bed?"

He hears Buck's breath catch abruptly and grins. "Yeah."

"Sitting up? Lying down?"

"Lying down," Buck breathes. "Are you in bed?"

"Yeah. I got into bed when I got your text." Eddie lies back a little more. "Anyone ever told you you're stupid pretty?"

"You. A few times."

"Well, you're stupid pretty." Eddie thinks for a moment; he can hear Buck breathing, enough to know that Buck is totally into this. "I bet you have really nice skin," Eddie murmurs. "And I bet if I spent enough time with you I could make you get goosebumps all over."

"Too late," Buck breathes. "Already do."

"You do, huh? What are you doing?"

A pause. For a split second, Eddie thinks he might've pushed too far. Then, "I'm touching myself. My chest. Imagining it's you."

"Your chest, huh?" Eddie's cock is starting to feel heavy at his thigh. "Touch your nipples."

He hears a sliding noise - skin on skin - and then Buck moans into the phone, and, yeah, Eddie's cock is definitely hard now. "Are you doing it?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," Buck pants.

"Tell me about it."

"They're sensitive." He hears Buck gasp. "They're pierced. I'm pulling on the rings a little. It kinda hurts, but in a good way." Then, surprising even Eddie, "If you were here... what would you do?"

"I'd suck on them," Eddie says, immediately, and Buck whimpers into the phone. "I'd pull on them with my teeth until you begged me to stop."

"Fuck," Buck groans.

"I'd pull on your hair with one hand," Eddie continues, "I feel like you'd like that, having your hair pulled. Do you?"

"Yeah, yeah-"

"I'd pull on your hair and I'd use my other hand to jack you off," Eddie says, and his own spare hand wraps around his cock. His hips lift at the sensation, and he swallows. "Touch yourself, Buck."

"Oh, fuck," Buck pants into the phone. Eddie can hear the hushed sounds of his hand moving, now, and speeds up himself. "Eddie, please-"

"You want me to make you come?" Eddie's close too, precome beading at the tip and easing his path. "That's why you called me, right? Because you want me to make you come?"

“God, Eddie,” Buck says, and he – fuck, he almost sobs it, like he’s pleading, like he needs it and Eddie’s the only one who can give it to him.

“Come, Buck,” he says.

He hears Buck whimper and follows him right over the edge, heat in his belly exploding and head tipped back into the pillows, breathless with it, knows that across town Buck’s got one hand around his dick and another probably still pulling a piercing, because he was thinking about Eddie, because he wanted Eddie there.

There’s a long pause, after that, as Eddie lies there and pants and tries to clean himself up with tissues. Then Buck says, “Wow.”

Eddie laughs breathlessly. “Yeah.”

“That wasn’t, uh… totally weird of me, right?”

“It was weird in the best way,” Eddie says, stretching and satisfied like he hasn’t been in a while. “Did you come?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Buck asks indignantly, like he’s offended that maybe Eddie missed the grand finale.

“I sure did. Sounds like you saw stars.” Eddie blinks up at the roof sleepily. “How long have you wanted to do that for?”

“Too long. Was just too scared.” Buck sounds sleepy. “Thanks for not freaking out.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” Eddie replies, yawning. “Maybe sometime we can do it in person.”

Buck makes a noise into the receiver like he wants to laugh, but he’s too tired. “Yeah. Maybe.”

~*~

The last thing Eddie expects, on Saturday night, is a phone call at one AM.

He’s still awake – his body clock permanently destroyed by shift work – when it does. It’s Bobby’s number, and Eddie wonders uneasily what could have possibly happened. Chris is with abuela, but maybe something-

“Bobby?” he asks, as soon as he answers.

“Eddie, you need to come down to The Prohibition,” Bobby says tersely – no greeting, nothing, and Eddie’s heart is in his throat quite suddenly. “It’s Buck.”

Eddie makes it down there in record time, has to push his way through the crowd of people on the club floor to get to the employee’s bathroom. Bobby’s outside, and he can hear Hen and Chim talking within.

“Bobby,” he says.

Bobby stops him with a hand on his chest before he can get any further. “Eddie, listen,” he murmurs. “Something’s happened, okay? He’s not the only one.”

“I don’t care, Bobby, let me through-”

Buck is curled up on the ground, in front of the toilet, shivering violently. The inside of the toilet bowl and Buck’s shirt are splattered with vomit – he’s sick, Eddie realises with a lurch in his gut. Really fucking sick.

“Hey, Buck,” Hen murmurs gently, “Eddie’s here.”

Buck’s head drifts upwards like it’s a monumental effort – his pupils are huge, and he winces with the light. “Eddie?”

Eddie swallows and kneels down next to Buck. There’s a pulse-ox on his finger, and Hen looks like she’s preparing an IV of some kind.

“He was asking for you,” Chim says to Eddie softly, and Eddie nods distractedly as he puts his hands on Buck’s neck, gently, to hold his head up. “Won’t go anywhere with us.”

He refused the ambulance last time as well, Eddie remembers, both times he tried to call it. Undoubtedly Buck’s not happy that they’re here.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie says, feeling Buck’s neck muscles relax in his hold. “You’re shaking. What’s going on, huh?”

Buck raises a hand to hold onto Eddie’s arm. “Others,” he says, licking his lips. “The others?”

Eddie turns to Hen. “Have we got water?” he asks desperately.

“I’ll get you some.”

Eddie turns back to Buck. “What others?” he prods gently.

“The others.” Buck blinks. “The bathroom. There are others.”

“Looks like a bad batch of party drugs,” Chim says to Eddie quietly.

“He doesn’t take drugs,” Eddie snaps. “He hardly even fucking drinks. Is anyone in the public bathrooms?”

“We’ve got another unit in there,” Bobby says. “They’re reporting the same thing, except a lot worse – two already off to hospital. Buck’s the only one who’s coherent enough to tell us anything, but he wanted us to call you.”

Eddie nods. Buck’s eyelashes are fluttering tiredly – Eddie uses the collar of Buck’s shirt to wipe the corner of his mouth. “Did you get sick?” he asks, even though it’s fairly obvious.

Buck nods.

“Okay. That’s okay.” Eddie bites his lip. “Can we get some privacy?” he begs.

Chim hesitates, but Bobby nods and they both move to stand outside the bathroom. Eddie turns back to Buck with the best smile he can muster up.

“You wanna get out of this shirt?”

Buck nods again, and Eddie helps him out of it, making sure that he doesn’t get any puke on Buck’s face. The shivering ramps up with Buck leaning against the tiled wall of the bathroom, and Eddie’s quick to strip out of his hoodie – it’s a faded army sweatshirt, with his last name emblazoned on the back, and it’s all he’s really got to offer.

“Here,” he says softly, helping Buck into it. “That better?”

“Yeah,” Buck croaks. “Sort of… imagined you taking my shirt off a little differently.”

Eddie’s startled into laughing. “Yeah, well. You’re not the only one. Are you with me now?”

“Mm, a little. Hard to think.”

“Yeah, it would be. Will you come to hospital?”

Buck winces, turns his head away. It’s the clearest non-verbal protest Eddie’s ever seen. “Please?” he asks. “Whatever this was, it made you really sick. You need to get checked out. I’ll stay with you, I promise.”

“Okay,” Buck mumbles.

Eddie turns to the doorway. Chim and Bobby are hovering, and Hen’s back with a bottle of water. “Had to practically beg the old white guy behind the counter for it,” she says.

“Stingy fuck,” Buck mumbles. “Not surprised.”

Even Bobby smiles at that, seeming a little relieved to hear a full sentence. Everyone waits patiently as Eddie helps Buck take a mouthful of water, spit into the toilet bowl, and then drink a little.

“He’s keeping fluid down okay,” Eddie murmurs, after five minutes. Buck’s eyes are closed again, but he’s still holding onto Eddie’s wrist tightly enough to indicate he’s awake. “Skin’s clammy, but he’s not shaking as hard.”

“Alright,” Bobby decides. “Let’s move him.”

“One problem, Cap,” Hen says. “The crowds out there – we’re gonna have trouble getting a stretcher through.”

“I’ll walk,” Buck mumbles.

“Buck,” Eddie protests.

Buck lifts his head and blinks his eyes open. “I can walk,” he says, trying not to slur his words. “Help me up?”

Bobby looks at them all, then says to Chimney and Hen, “Go have the stretcher on stand-by. I’ll help Eddie here, let you know if we need assistance.”

“Got it, Cap.”

With that, Bobby enters the bathroom and squats down next to Eddie. “Buck,” he says softly, “you know we can stretcher you out of here, no problem. You don’t have to walk.”

“I know, sir,” Buck croaks.

“No need to call me sir.” Bobby smiles, although it’s a little strained. “You can just call me Bobby.” He turns to Eddie after that. “What are you thinking?” he asks. “Is he okay to walk?”

Eddie does another assessment. Buck’s pupils have returned somewhat to normal-size, he hasn’t vomited since before Eddie got here, and he’s keeping water down. He’s still shaking, and Eddie has no doubt they’ll have to help him, but he’s been following the conversation well enough.

“Let’s go,” he decides. “Get his other side.”

They pull Buck up between them, with Eddie taking the majority of the load as they wind their way through the crowd. Buck tucks his face into Eddie’s neck when the strobe lights start again.

Once outside, they make a beeline for the ambulance, where Hen and Chim are waiting with the gurney. Once Buck is on it, they have the green light to head to the emergency department of Cedars-Sinai.

Buck’s drowsy in the back, but he successfully answers a gamut of questions – the day, the month, the year they’re in. His birthday. Eddie sits beside him quietly, letting Hen and Chim work away with Wharton driving in the front.

“Don’t have to stay,” Buck says, turning his head to look at Eddie sleepily. “Hospitals suck.”

“I’m staying,” he says firmly.

The hospital is a blur. There’s offloading, finding a room, then blood tests. Buck dozes his way through most of it, and Eddie sits nearby, still clutching the bottle of water from the club.

It’s three in the morning when there’s a knock, and Bobby appears. Eddie straightens up.

“How’s the kid?” Bobby asks softly.

“Sleeping,” Eddie says, probably unnecessarily. “Finally. Got some blood tests done – doctors said he’s pretty much come good on his own, so no stomach pumping, but they want to monitor him until morning.” He blinks. “Why are you still here?”

“Just finished giving my statement to police.” Bobby sits down in the extra chair. “Eddie… Athena’s on her way here. She wants to talk to him.”

“Why him?” Eddie asks, feeling irrationally defensive and protective. “Why not someone else?”

“Buck is the one who called 911,” Bobby explains. “There were multiple people in there who got drugged, Eddie. Either they all took a bad batch of party drugs or they had something put in their drinks.”

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s already happened before. Buck doesn’t take drugs.”

“It’s happened before?” Bobby frowns. “Did he report it?”

“No,” Eddie says. “I tried to get him to, but he wouldn’t do it. I’m not sure he’ll give Athena a statement.”

Bobby sighs. “Alright. I’ll bring her in when she gets here, okay?”

Eddie nods, and Bobby stands up, clapping him on the shoulder before he leaves. Eddie rubs his face with both hands, exhausted.

“I’m not giving a statement,” Buck’s voice says.

Eddie looks up. Buck’s blinking at him sleepily, mouth pursed and twisted down at the corners.

“You were awake for all that, huh?”

“Most of it.”

“Buck…” Eddie rubs his face again. “I know you don’t want to give a statement. And nobody can make you. But this is the second time you’ve been slipped something at that club, and there are other people involved now too. What if someone else gets hurt?”

“Nobody’s ever believed me before now,” Buck says tiredly. “Why would Athena be any different?”

Eddie flounders. Sometimes, he’s confronted with the fact that truthfully, he doesn’t know Buck all that well. Clearly he hasn’t had good experiences with people in the past – maybe he’s reported a crime and been dismissed.

“Will you wait until you meet her to decide?” Eddie asks softly.

“Okay.” Buck rubs his eyes. “Thanks for staying with me. And for coming to the club. It’s late. Or early. Or something.”

“So late it’s early,” Eddie surmises.

“What time is it?”

“Around three thirty. In the morning. You got some blood tests done… they’re just monitoring you now. You’ll be let go in the morning.”

Buck nods, rubs his face against the pillow. “How’re the others?”

“I’m not sure. Worse off than you are.” Eddie sits back. “How’d you know?”

“Drink tasted salty. It was just a gin and tonic.” Buck’s moving restlessly in the bed. “When I realised there was something in it I called 911. Was headed to the bathroom and found the others… don’t remember a lot after that. Don’t remember asking for you.” He smiles a little then. “Thanks. Again.”

“Anytime. Again.”

There’s a rap on the door, and Eddie turns to see Athena standing there. She’s alone, which is sort of a relief.

“Hey, Athena,” Eddie says.

“Nice to see you, Eddie.” She looks to Buck. “Can I come in?”

He nods silently.

“My name’s Athena Grant,” she explains as she sits down. “I understand you got drugged tonight while you were at work?”

“Um,” Buck says, clearly surprised at being believed right off the bat. “Yeah. I – sorry. I’m Evan. Evan Buckley. People call me Buck.”

“Buck, huh? Well, it’s nice to meet you, Buck.” Athena crosses her legs. “Now, I know you don’t want to give a statement, boo, that’s fine. I’m not here to pressure you into one. But if there’s anything you can tell me about tonight, I’d appreciate it. We’ve got four pretty sick people in the hospital over this.”

Buck nibbles on his lip. “I’ll give a statement,” he says finally.

Eddie tries not to smile. If anyone was gonna win Buck over, it was going to be Athena.

“That’d be great, Buck,” Athena says sincerely. “You don’t have to do it now if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“I’ll do it now.” Buck tries for a smile. “Might pass some time until they let me go.”

~*~

While Buck gives his statement, Eddie catches a ride back to his car, at The Prohibition, and then drives back to the hospital. Like hell he’s going to let Buck get a taxi home.

Buck looks tired when he gets back, but he’s done with the statement, and the hospital is discharging him by seven in the morning. There’s not even a token protest as they climb into Eddie’s car – Buck’s clearly not going to argue with going home with him.

Eddie makes them both eggs on toast, because he’s famished and Buck needs to eat at least something. Then he digs up a towel and a spare toothbrush, and Buck goes to shower.

“Eddie?”

He turns from the couch bed. Buck’s standing in his living room, wrapped in a towel.

“Can I borrow some clothes?” Buck asks wearily.

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie digs him up sweats and a t-shirt. “You want underwear…?”

Buck shakes his head, and some very primal part of Eddie’s mind registers that Buck’s freeballing – until Buck collapses onto the couch bed beside him and tucks himself close with a tired, shaky sigh. He puts his head down on Eddie’s outstretched arm, unselfconsciously.

This is the first few moments they’ve really had to themselves since their phone call the other night. Eddie winds Buck in close, kisses his head gently, and rolls onto his side so that Buck can tuck his head under Eddie’s chin if he wants.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he says, quite honestly.

“I’m glad you were there.”

Eddie tries not to think about what might’ve happened otherwise. He tries not to think about getting Buck out of his vomit-stained t-shirt and into his own hoodie, or almost carrying him out of the club. He hates that Buck is exposed to this shit just because he needs a job, and this is the only one he can find.

He leans down, kisses Buck gently, because it’s been a long time coming and it almost didn’t happen because of tonight. Buck kisses him back, a chaste thing, meant for comfort and not desire. Buck’s lips are soft, and he tastes like mint and toothpaste, his hand gentle where it’s wound into the fabric of Eddie’s t-shirt, at his waist.

When Eddie pulls away, Buck chases him for a moment, eyes blurry with how tired he must be. Eddie’s the same.

“Get some rest, Buck,” he murmurs, tugging the blanket up over both of them. “You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

~*~

When he wakes up, it’s slowly.

Chris is with abuela and will be until after school on Monday, now, which Chris was excited about (which only slightly eased Eddie’s guilt).

Buck is sprawled over him again, breathing softly and gently. His cheeks look flushed – he seems better for the food and the sleep, but when Eddie looks at the clock, it’s only midday.

He groans. Stupid body clock waking him up. Stupid army training that has him waking up at these four-hour intervals like he’s still at basic. Just because he can doesn’t mean he should, but he’s been paying the price of his military service, in more ways than one, for years now.

At his shoulder, Buck coughs a little, rolls over to press his back against Eddie’s side. There’s sunlight filtering into the apartment, and Eddie stares up at the ceiling, fingers absently stroking the pulse point in Buck’s wrist.

His phone vibrates.

He rolls a little to get it, managing to extricate his arm from under Buck’s head as he does, and steps into the kitchen. “Hello?” he whispers.

“It’s Athena, Eddie.” She sounds tense. “Is Buck still with you?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Good.” Athena sounds relieved. “That’s good.”

“Where else would he be?” Eddie asks, confused. “Athena?”

“You can’t tell anyone if I tell you this, Diaz,” she warns.

“Yeah, you know I won’t. What’s going on?”

There’s a long pause. Then, “The day-shift at The Prohibition just found a body behind a dumpster. Tall, young, white male. We haven’t been able to identify him yet.”

Eddie’s brain stutters for a moment, then roars back into thinking mode. A body? In the dumpster behind Buck’s work? And they couldn’t identify it, and Athena had to call to check on Buck, which means… something must’ve happened to obscure the person’s face.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says.

“We don’t know anything else yet,” Athena says. “Press is already here, so it’ll break the news soon.” Eddie nods along mechanically, watching as Buck rolls onto his back, stretches his arms above his head, and yawns widely. “This is the third that’s similar this month in Los Angeles.”

“The third? This has happened before? How come-”

“Didn’t happen in our jurisdiction, baby. The investigators over at San Bernardino County just called.”

Buck sits up, blinking at Eddie groggily.

“Right,” Eddie says numbly. “I have to go, Athena.”

“You stay safe, boo. Buck as well.”

“We will.”

Eddie hangs up and turns around to see Buck looking at him, eyes sleepy, blanket pooled around his waist. “Athena?” he asks. “What did she want?”

Eddie swallows. He doesn’t really know how to tell Buck what’s happened, so he says, “Let’s just turn on the TV,” and then flips to the news.

It’s already breaking, and Eddie can actually spot Athena in the footage. Buck stares at the newscast along with him – the person is still unidentified, Eddie realises, and the presenter says police are attempting to locate ID.

“They won’t find any,” Buck says hollowly.

“What? Why?”

“If he was staff there, we never keep our wallets on us. In case they’re stolen during the shift.” Buck blinks at the TV like he’s not really seeing it. “Sexually assaulted?”

Eddie winces, watching the news coverage. The body was found without pants on, apparently. He doesn’t want to think too closely on it, because it just – it hurts, to know someone discarded this guy like he was trash. “Looks like.”

Buck nods. Then, without saying anything, he gets up and leaves the room, closes the bathroom door behind him, and doesn't come out for a long, long time.

~*~

Two days later, the body still hasn't been identified, and they're sitting at the upstairs dining table in the firehouse, atmosphere tense and gloomy. Buck's joined them, because the rest of his little fire family - who are all good people down to their cores - are worried about him.

Buck's quiet, a little moody. He's not saying a lot, but then again, neither is anyone else.

"I figured I'd find you all here," Athena's voice says, and Eddie turns to see her climbing the steps in her uniform. "How're we all holding up?"

Her eyes land on Buck in particular, and Buck looks up at her, meets her eyes, before dropping them back to his plate. If he wasn't in the mood to talk to a cop at the hospital before, he's definitely not now, and Eddie can't even figure out why.

"We're okay," Bobby says, for everyone. "Buck here is joining us. Had a day off from work."

"Good to see you, Buckaroo," Athena says, like the nickname just slipped out. "You doin' okay, baby?"

The pet name seems to startle Buck out of whatever stupor he was in. "Yeah, I'm okay. Did the statement help?"

"It sure did," Athena says. "Looks like the rest of the people affected will be fine."

"Any news on the guy in...?" Eddie trails off; okay, so maybe he has a vested interest in this. Sue him.

Athena sighs. "He didn't have any ID on him," she says. "No phone, nothing. Managers don't seem to know who he is either. He's a got a tattoo though, on his leg - we might be able to release a picture of it to the media, see if anyone recognises it."

“Wait,” Buck says. “He had a tattoo?”

Athena looks at him curiously. “Yeah,” she says slowly. “Some sort of whistle, on his lower leg.”

Buck puts his knife and fork down, looks down at his plate.

“Do you know something, honey?” Athena asks, uncharacteristically gentle.

“His name was Hamish,” Buck murmurs.

“You knew him?”

“I didn’t know him well. He’d only just started there.” Buck shakes his head. “He showed me the whistle tattoo on his second day – I wanted to get another, he told me his friend was a tattooist and would cut me a good deal.”

“Did he have a partner?” Athena asks. “Family, friends?”

“I don’t know,” Buck admits. “I don’t think so. He seemed kinda lonely. I don’t think he was close with his family, though. Just a few things he said.” He shakes his head. “Wait, I’ve got him on Facebook.”

Buck finds the guy on Facebook and hands his phone over to Athena. She scrolls for a moment, then sighs.

“Picture of his tattoo on his Facebook page,” she explains, handing the phone back to Buck. “Honey, do you know when he worked last?”

“Um, hang on…” Buck messes around on his phone for a little while. “Here. That’s our schedule. He was working the same time I was that night, he just started two hours later. He was supposed to finish by six AM, when the morning crew came in.”

“Did he usually finish on time?”

“He’d look for overtime,” Buck admits. “Stay back doing stock or helping with construction stuff. He’d just moved, said he needed the money.” He shakes his head. "The managers have been hiring new people so fast they don't even look at their faces," he adds. "I don't even think they know who I am."

Athena nods, standing up. “I have to make a call, get back to the station,” she says. “Buck, would you be happy to give us another statement?”

Buck nods wordlessly.

“Alright, boo, I’ll call and arrange a time with you.” She kisses Bobby goodbye, then pats Buck’s shoulder as she leaves.

The table’s quiet for a moment. Then Buck says, “I’m not hungry,” and everyone collectively decides the same thing.

~*~

Later that night, with Chris safely tucked into bed, Buck swings by.

Eddie knew he was coming, and he wasn’t happy about Buck taking the bus, but he knew he couldn’t do much about it.

Buck’s got dinner ingredients when he shows up, and he sets himself the work of making dinner for them both. He’s quiet.

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” Eddie asks.

“If I’d been there…”

“If you’d been there, it might’ve been you instead of him.” Eddie swallows. “Hell, you were there and you still got drugged, Buck. We’re just – really lucky you could identify him.”

A long pause. Then, “If it’d been me working that shift I would’ve been fine.”

“What? Buck-”

“Hamish didn’t have an Eddie.” Buck gives him a weak, uncertain smile. "I do. And you're always there when I finish my shift, no matter what."

Eddie stares at him. Apparently, Buck has placed a lot more importance in Eddie hanging around for his shifts than even Eddie had - that he feels nothing bad would've happened to him because Eddie is there, because Eddie will keep him safe...

"Come here," Eddie says, and Buck steps into his space, allows Eddie to pull him in by the back of the neck and kiss him gently, like he means it. His mouth is soft and pliant and his skin smells fantastic - green tea shower gel and something inherently masculine, musky.

“God, Buck," Eddie whispers into Buck's mouth. "Anything could've-"

"Anything didn't." Buck steps in closer; they're chest-to-chest. "I'm right here, I'm fine.”

"Buck, if something happened to you..."

He thinks of Buck, shivering and dazed in the alleyway, his compliance. He thinks of Buck, sprawled artlessly in a bathroom stall and puking, confused about why paramedics were there and not quite knowing what was going on.

He thinks of Buck, thrown into a dumpster like trash. Roofied, sexually assaulted, left to die.

Buck gestures to the bathroom at his silence. "I'm gonna go clean up my face," he murmurs, like Eddie’s spooked. “Can you get the chicken on?”

Eddie listens to the bathroom fan whirl to life, sees Buck lean forward with the makeup wipe gripped in his hand as he rubs at the skin of his eyes. The black smudges come off easily, and when he stands up after washing his face, he looks like a different person. Less like a caricature, like Slinky Bartender Buck, and more like Eddie's Buck.

"Why do you wear it?" Eddie asks, as Buck heads back into the kitchen and drops the wipe in the bin.

Buck shrugs. "It makes me feel like they don't really see me," he admits. "Like if I'm wearing it, they can't tell what my face actually looks like."

Eddie nods. It makes some sort of sense, in the way that any wearing of makeup would make sense to him. "But you don't wear it around me," he says, confused.

"I don't need to hide from you, Eddie," Buck says quietly. "Figured that out a long time ago."

~*~

Post-dinner finds them on the couch bed, which Eddie hasn’t really bothered to properly pack up. What’s the point?

“I can’t stay the night,” Buck says, when Eddie asks. “Working tomorrow.”

Eddie wants to beg him not to, but he knows he can’t. Instead, he leans over, kisses Buck deep, intent on feeling his warmth, his aliveness.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” Eddie murmurs.

“I don’t want you to,” Buck whispers back, and Eddie finds his thigh and pushes his legs open, works Buck’s belt buckle distractedly as they kiss, noting that Buck slides ever so slightly lower than him in the sheets.

“Gotta be quiet,” Eddie whispers. “Chris is asleep.”

Buck nods, then leans upright to take his shirt off. He’s switched the nipple rings out for bars, and Eddie thumbs one gently, swallowing the noise Buck makes with a kiss and feeling the nub harden up under his ministrations.

“What do you want?” he murmurs.

Buck guides Eddie’s hand to the juncture of his thighs, where he’s desperately hard beneath his jeans, and Eddie’s new and only focus becomes getting them off.

It takes two of them – but eventually, they’re off, and Eddie puts an arm around Buck’s shoulders and looks him in the eye before continuing. Buck looks right back, licks his lips, eyes fluttering to Eddie’s lips and then back up.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Just making sure.” He doesn’t give Buck the opportunity to ask what – he kisses Buck, filthy and open-mouthed, slides his hand into Buck’s boxers, and strokes.

Buck digs his fingernails into Eddie’s side sharply, like he wasn’t expecting that, and his legs fall further apart. Eddie marvels in Buck’s skin, miles of it, pale and smooth and supple underneath the rough pads of his fingers – the way Buck’s whole body responds to him like a song teased out of an instrument by the musician playing it.

They had phone sex, sure. But this is different. This is Buck laid out next to him with his boxers tugged down and his legs open, and he shudders when Eddie wraps a hand around him, strokes, tilting his head back to stare at Eddie with hazy blue eyes.

"Please?"

Eddie uses his other hand to pluck at one of Buck's nipple piercings, enthralled at how it causes Buck's entire body to erupt in a full-body shiver. He leans down, then - shuffles a little to make it comfortable - and takes the closest one into his mouth, gently, lets the metal click between his teeth.

Buck moans, his hips jerking. His hand wraps around the back of Eddie's neck. It’s a totally foreign sensation, the metal bar in Buck’s flesh and the pointed ends stabbing a little at the flesh of his tongue, but he likes it – likes the contrast of Buck’s soft flesh and the metal in his mouth, the way he can sort of grip the points between his teeth and pull, gently.

Buck whimpers, startling him, then buries his face in Eddie’s hair to stifle the noise.

Eddie lets the piercing go, reluctantly, and rolls on top of Buck, in between his legs, settles there. Buck grips tentatively at his waist, and Eddie puts a hand in his hair, pulls it until Buck’s head falls back, eyes closed in ecstasy.

He’s being quiet. He’s being good, doing exactly what Eddie told him – to be quiet. His cock is hard and heavy in Eddie’s hand, and his abs look like they’re drawn taut. He’s close.

Buck likes it like this, Eddie realises. Buck likes it when Eddie's pulling his hair and his nipple piercings and bullying his way between Buck's thighs. Buck likes being tossed around.

He jerks Buck's head back by his hair. Buck's throbbing so hard in his hand it must be painful, but he meets Eddie's eyes, his mouth open and teeth gleaming behind his lips. Eddie squeezes him - harder than what he himself would prefer, on a hunch - and Buck's eyes roll back into his head as his hips jerk and he shoots, messy, all over his own belly and chest.

Silent, just like Eddie told him to be.

"Good boy," Eddie murmurs, gentling his touch on Buck's hair and kissing his open mouth gently. "That's it, good boy."

"Eddie," Buck rasps.

"Shh, sh, I got you. You're okay, I got you." He squeezes on the way up, once more, eking the last few waves of Buck's orgasm from him. Buck's body has erupted into full-blown trembling now, and Eddie can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing, so he kisses Buck gently and then runs a hand through his hair, soothing his scalp after having yanked it. "Good?"

"Yeah," Buck whispers. He leans up a little to kiss Eddie, sighing. "Yeah, wow."

"I think wow is good," Eddie teases, reaching for the tissues on the nearby end table. He starts wiping them both down, then slides out from between Buck's legs and settles at his side instead. "So. I’m glad you came.”

He didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but Buck giggles breathlessly anyway, allowing Eddie to adjust his boxers for him. “What about you?” he asks.

Eddie shakes his head. “I’m good. That was just for you. I’ll call in a favour later.”

“If you’re sure,” Buck says, and Eddie nods absently, turning Buck’s arm to try and properly read the script on it.

"What does this say?"

Buck's eyes are closed; he's glued himself to Eddie’s side happily. "I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free," he murmurs. "Michelangelo quote."

Eddie traces it a few more times, watching as the skin on Buck's arm erupts into lazy shivers with it, hairs raising at the attention. His eyes are still closed, and he seems content to let Eddie hold him.

"Whose marble are you carving?" Eddie asks.

Buck's mouth quirks into a peaceful smile. "I haven't worked that out yet. When I do, I'll let you know."

For a while, they just lie there, shirtless, warm through each other’s body heat, with Netflix mindlessly playing in the background. Then Buck tilts his head, and he reaches up tentatively, traces the weal of a scar on Eddie’s shoulder gently.

Eddie swallows, suppressing the urge to flinch. Buck’s eyes track over the roundness of the mark, and Eddie can see him putting two and two together. When he lifts his eyes, his gaze is steady as a rock.

"Bullet?" he asks.

Eddie swallows. "One of three," he says, and Buck nods as if that makes sense. "I got lucky."

"This is lucky?" Buck smooths the pad of his thumb over it, looking quietly upset.

"I came home alive. That's pretty lucky." Eddie had sort of forgotten they were there - he always does, until he sleeps with someone who is startled by them. Although, Buck doesn't seem startled. Just... a little sad. Accepting.

Buck meets his eyes. "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore." His brain does, sometimes, when he's having a rough time and there are fireworks, or he hears screams when he wasn't expecting to. Hell, joining the LAFD was an exercise in defiance; it feels almost normal to him, the heightened adrenaline and live-or-die stakes. “It’s not the worst thing I came home with.”

Buck watches him, then sits himself up a little straighter, switches positions so Eddie’s leaning on his side instead. It’s nice, truthfully, to be the one who leans sometimes. “Iraq?”

“Afghanistan. Two tours.”

Buck’s eyes travel down his torso, and Eddie can see the moment he finds the other two bullet wounds – the one in his lower belly is jagged from where they had to pull the shrapnel out, the one in his right pectoral muscle off-centre where it clipped him as he was already on the way down.

“Jesus,” Buck murmurs. “I mean… does it hurt? Still?”

“Not really. Sometimes the shoulder gives me some trouble, but it’s all rehabbed now.” He lets his own hand drift up, to Buck’s chest, plays with his piercings a little until Buck wriggles, then moves onto the tattoos.

“Why these?” he asks, eyeing off what looks like two bones crossed beneath a music note. They’re all dark, stamped into his skin hard.

“The tattoos? Or the piercings?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Um, well, truthfully, when I was growing up, I was in… kind of a really shit situation, and getting tattoos and modding my body was… well, it was a way to feel in control of myself. My life. Like telling people they didn’t own me and that I wasn’t performing for them.”

Eddie nods thoughtfully. He likes the way the little silver points look on Buck’s chest, a heady mix of playful and dangerous. “What came first?”

Buck holds up the arm that has the script on it. “This. Day I turned eighteen.” He sighs, closes his eyes. “I was thinking about another one. Hamish was gonna set me up with his artist.”

Eddie nods. He still feels awful about the whole thing – about knowing that either while the commotion inside the club was happening or just after, he was killed. That nobody thought to check on him, that it took Buck recognising the description of a tattoo to finally give him a name.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says quietly. “Did you… know him well?”

“I really didn’t. We worked a few shifts together. He used to ask about you, why you were there so often.”

“What’d you tell him?” Eddie asks, pinking up at the idea that someone noticed how often he goes in to see Buck while he’s working.

“That you’re infatuated with me, obviously.” Buck smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and Eddie kisses his forehead gently.

“They’re gonna figure out who did this, Buck,” Eddie assures him quietly. “They will.”

Buck sighs, his eyes slipping shut. “Yeah,” he replies, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

Honestly, maybe Eddie doesn’t either.

~*~

What he’s not expect from Buck is this – the other man’s devotion to him and to Christopher.

It’s not like he had any doubt that Buck was a good human being, all the way through to his core, with something holding him back. It’s just that he didn’t expect the raw selflessness they’ve been getting from him – Buck loves Chris, doesn’t mind when Chris is around when they catch up, and goes as far as to bring kid-friendly activities with him.

They hardly talk about Buck’s work, because it’s a sore topic. Eddie hates the thought of Buck being there, which he raises once to an uncomfortable, almost hostile, “It’s the only thing I know how to do,” followed by an hour of tense silence. So he doesn’t say anything.

When the timing is right, he picks Buck up from work and takes him home. They’re not sleeping in the same bed together, yet, not really. Not in an actual bed, at any rate.

So it shouldn’t come as a surprise to him that when he hits his head at work, sustains a concussion, and isn’t allowed to go home by himself, that Buck is his first point of call.

“You what?” Buck barks into the phone, when Eddie explains.

Eddie winces. The nurses are already levelling him with disapproving looks because he tried to discharge himself against medical advice. “I fell off a balcony.”

“I-” There’s the sound of a door opening, and the club music fades from the earpiece; Buck’s at work, and Eddie feels awful. Thankfully, he’s already arranged for abuela to keep Chris. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Eddie replies.

“Liar. If you were okay you wouldn’t be in hospital with your brains scrambled like fried egg.”

Eddie laughs, then winces as it jolts his skull. “Look,” he sighs, “they’re not letting me go home by myself. But you’re at work, so-”

“Shut up,” Buck mutters into the phone. “I’ll get a taxi, okay? Which hospital are you at?”

“Cedars-Sinai. Buck, you don’t have to-”

“Eddie,” Buck interrupts, and his voice is soft and fond over the line. “I’m coming to get you, okay? It’s alright. I’m glad you called me, really.”

Eddie doesn’t know how to process that, because he can hear it’s true. “Okay,” he says weakly.

“Need anything?”

“No. Just – no.”

“I’ll be there soon, Eds.” With that, Buck hangs up, and Eddie settles back into his pillows, giving the nurse a meek smile. She rolls her eyes at him – he’s been here before, multiple times, for reasons both more serious and trivial than this.

“At least someone is telling you off,” she says. “Checking out against medical advice…”

“Well, I can’t afford to stay,” Eddie reasons.

The nurse huffs, but continues to take her readings and is eventually replaced with the night shift, who’s a lot younger and looks a lot more like a scared little rabbit.

“First rotation?” Eddie asks, and she turns pink.

“Knock knock,” Buck’s voice announces, right before he swings into the doorway. “Eddie?”

The nurse looks startled. "Are... are you lost?"

Buck's eyebrows fly up. "No," he says. "I'm here for Eddie."

Buck's wearing those almost-leather jeans with the panels on them, black Converse, and a black and white baseball shirt that looks too small and has BABY SLUT emblazoned across the chest. The thing is so tight he can see the pointed bars of Buck's nipple piercings through it. Eddie chokes on the water he's drinking.

The nurse looks at Eddie, then back at Buck. "Edmundo Diaz?" she asks dubiously.

Buck wrinkles his nose. "Your full name is Edmundo?"

Eddie grins weakly. He's so happy to see Buck he could die from it. Even if Buck is wearing a baby slut t-shirt. "Big talk coming from someone who introduces himself as Buck Buckley."

"You're here for this Eddie?" the nurse asks.

Buck blinks at her. His eyeliner has glitter in it tonight, and Eddie remembers suddenly that there was some kind of fundraiser event for... well, something going on at the bar. Buck looks gorgeous, as always, and very much out of place in the hospital room.

"He's here for me," Eddie says, noticing that Buck looks suddenly uncomfortable. "I'm the adult slut."

Buck's face breaks into a huge smile, and he laughs, which makes Eddie laugh until he coughs. Buck steps into the room then, holding up a cup filled with ice chips, and the nurse mumbles something about going to get the discharge papers.

"I don't think she likes my shirt," Buck says, making himself comfortable on Eddie's bed and handing the cup over.

Eddie laughs, coughs. Buck's cologne settles over him, something musky and airy that almost immediately has him relaxing and feeling better. "You look nice," he says. "Sorry to call you away from the fundraiser." He eats some ice chips; they're soothing on his throat, far more than the water was.

"Don't be. I'm pretty sure they were about half an hour away from asking me to strip." Buck turns to look at the door. "Nurse seemed pretty surprised I'm here for you."

"She just doesn't like that you're prettier than her."

Buck's cheeks go a little pink; he looks pleased. "So what happened?" he asks.

"Took a fall. No big deal, except they won't let me go home on my own."

Buck's frowning. "Are you hurt?"

"Not especially. Knocked my head." Eddie tilts it, stares at Buck's chest. "Not that I don't love your shirt, but-"

Buck laughs. "It's not mine. Someone spilled a Screaming Orgasm on me while I was waiting tables. I had to change, and this was the only spare anyone had."

"Your discharge papers," the nurse says, who's flaming red and clearly regretting ever having Eddie as her patient.

"Wait, hang on," Buck pleads. "The Screaming Orgasm isn't-"

But the nurse is long gone, and Eddie's collapsing into a fit of laughter at Buck's bad luck. He heaves a sigh - the lettering for BABY SLUT stretches, hysterically thin - and says, "They're gonna ban me from the emergency room, aren't they?"

"Maybe. But it was worth it for the shirt." He smiles. "Thanks for coming to get me, Buck."

"No problem."

~*~

"Where's Chris?"

"With abuela. She had him for the evening anyway - keeping him till morning now."

Buck flicks the light on as they enter. His eyelashes swoop, black, against his cheeks; Eddie squints at the eyeliner. "Am I really, really concussed, or is there glitter in it tonight?" he asks.

Buck smiles. "There's glitter. You aren't concussed. Well, not for that reason, anyway."

Eddie looks up at him. Buck smiles back, wider - he really does look amazing tonight, Eddie reflects. Gorgeous with his big blue eyes and eyeliner and black hair.

"Wanna dance?" Eddie asks.

Buck laughs. "What?"

"Dance with me," Eddie insists, tugging Buck to the middle of the room. "You look too nice not to."

"You're definitely concussed."

"Maybe. Will you dance with me anyway?" Even as he asks, Buck's hands are coming up to his shoulders to hold on; he's almost beaming now.

"Yeah. Okay. Let's dance."

"Pick some music," Eddie says, and Buck fumbles with his phone until a slow, nostalgic song filters through the speakers in Eddie's living room. Then they're swaying, and Buck looks - genuinely happy, like a different person, like somebody Eddie's always somehow known and had feelings for.

_And they can try to put you down, wear you out_

_Get you through the idea of luck..._

"I like the song," he says.

"Hmm." Buck steps closer, puts his head on Eddie's shoulder. "They played this at my high school prom."

"You went to prom?"

"I'm not completely undesirable, Eddie."

"You're not undesirable at all. I just didn't think prom would be your thing."

A long pause. They're swaying, now, with Buck nice and close and leaning on Eddie like he wants nothing more than to become one with him. Then, "You do weird shit for people you really love," and nestles in even closer.

_Well I thought you were the sweetest kill_

_Did we even know?_

"I went stag to my prom," Eddie says.

"What? You did?"

"Yeah. Me and a few of my friends. One of them couldn't get a date... we didn't want him to feel bad."

"Ugh, you're so noble."

Eddie laughs, grips Buck's hips a little tighter. "Maybe that's why I'm seducing the man wearing a Baby Slut t-shirt in my apartment."

"Going to save me from my wicked ways, Diaz?" Buck tilts his head back, peers at Eddie through half-lidded, blacked-out eyes, and Eddie swallows. Buck's got the height advantage, which he's finally using, and he's smirking a little.

Two can play at this game. He tugs at the hem of Buck's shirt. "Let's start with this," he murmurs.

_Let me break you through this world_

__

__

_Can I break you through this world?_

~*~

It's been years since Eddie stayed the night at someone's house, or had someone stay with him.

He wakes in the morning with a headache and Buck slumped next to him in bed, torso bare and hair ruffled. His eyeliner is smudged, and there's glitter particles on Eddie's pillowcase.

He lifts the sheets. They're both naked, with a trail of hickeys littering Buck's pale skin all the way down to the junction of his hips. Eddie smiles.

"Stop," Buck mumbles, curling close. "S'cold."

"Sorry." He lets the covers drop. "Can't help myself."

Buck cracks one eye open to look at him. "You already did," he says, rolling onto his back, "last night."

Eddie leans down, kisses him soft the way he knows Buck likes after sex. "It's not helping myself if you asked for it," he murmurs, running a hand through Buck's hair and delighting in the way Buck shivers underneath him.

Buck looks up at him, eyes big and blue in the morning light. He seems like he's thinking about something, but Eddie holds his gaze regardless.

"What happens if you want someone like you?" Buck asks quietly.

Eddie blinks. "Like me?"

"You know. Not covered in eyeliner or tattoos. Not... you know. Like this."

"I happen to like this," Eddie says pointedly, and runs his hand through Buck's hair. "I like the eyeliner and the tattoos. It's just you. Are you worried about that?"

Buck gives a small smile. “Guys like you don’t usually treat guys like me well,” he says softly, making Eddie’s gut lurch. “I just… worry that when people get what they want from me, they leave.”

“What do you think I want from you?” Eddie asks quietly.

Buck worries his lip. “I don’t know.”

“I just want what you’re willing to give,” Eddie murmurs, running a hand over Buck’s chest. “That’s all. If you’re not comfortable, you can tell me.”

Buck opens his mouth, then closes it uneasily, rolls to tuck himself along Eddie’s body. Eddie strokes his spine thoughtfully, presses a kiss to his temple.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Buck replies quietly.

It’s not nothing. But he senses he won’t be able to get it out of Buck with the morning light spilling into the room and the knowledge that Chris will be home soon, and for that reason, he drops it.

“Breakfast?” he asks instead.


	2. Buck - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol so i know i haven't updated anything in a while but i have 15k of automatism done, so i'm just going to upload buck's part in two separate chapters ok? so THERE WILL BE A THIRD PART TO THIS when i can be bothered to finish it/update tethers first
> 
> thank you to everyone who's been so patient with me and messaged me, it means a lot <3 as always, enjoy!

Eddie loves Buck hard and fast, in a way Buck isn’t familiar with.

Eddie makes sure he has enough to eat. Eddie hides jellybeans in the pockets of Buck’s clothes and keeps makeup wipes in the medicine cabinet in his bathroom. Eddie doesn’t know how to cook but he buys a Jamie Oliver book and tries his best because he knows Buck doesn’t get to eat a lot of good food. When Buck gets sick, or he’s tired, Eddie comes over with abuela’s leftovers and Christopher and plies him with warm food and love until Buck feels better again.

Eddie always wants Buck to come first. When they fuck it’s never hard and fast, even if Buck pushes for it – Eddie will rough him up and follow the touch with gentle hands and warm little kisses. Eddie will roll him onto his side and push into him and roll his hips slow, one big gentle hand branding Buck’s ribcage where he’s caressing, his mouth soft on the back of Buck’s neck. Eddie will murmur in Spanish and roll Buck’s piercings between his deft, thin fingers and never, ever comes until Buck spills into his hand, sobbing.

Being loved like this feels cruel sometimes. Unsafe. Buck knows fucking and how to fuck, and he knows transactional sex, knows the feeling of not coming and smiling like it’s fine and he had fun just getting the other guy off. He knows women who think he’s pretty but not lovable, women who ride him like they’re trying to rev him up like an engine, and get disappointed with his gentleness.

He stops looking for sex from other people right around the time Eddie first talks him into an orgasm over the phone. He figures they’re probably not exclusive – they’ve never had the conversation – but he knows that other people have looked elsewhere, and he’s okay with it, really. Eddie’s nice to him. It’s more than Buck’s come to expect, and so he refuses to expect more.

Eddie doesn’t want him under the harsh purple and red strobe lights at the Prohibition, with the floor thundering and people watching Buck like he’s a performance, weaving his way between the crowds. Eddie doesn’t want him serving drinks until four in the morning and waiting for the bus home. Eddie wants him safe. Eddie wants him doing something in the daylight, wants him hidden from the night.

Buck thinks that if Eddie knew everything – really knew everything – he would run. Buck’s goods are so damaged he’s not even in the discount bin anymore. But Eddie – likes him, for some reason, even when Buck’s not providing sex, and thinks his art is good. Well, he doesn’t have a reason to lie, so Buck’s pretty sure he’s telling the truth.

But hell. He’s deluded himself before.

~*~

Sometimes Buck is almost brave enough to submit an application for a new job.

He’ll sit at his computer and let his hands hover above the keyboard, staring at childcare jobs and thinking of the one degree he actually finished. But what kind of childcare agency would want him, anyway? And apart from that… the Prohibition, and jobs like it, are all he’s known since he was eighteen.

Today’s one of those days. He’s wrestling with himself, agonizing over it, until there’s a knock on his door and he opens it to find Eddie standing there, this cute, pleased little smile on his face that shows off his canines.

(Sometimes Buck still thinks Eddie might bite, with those, and find the one last tender place Buck has to sink his teeth into. He never does.)

“Hi,” Eddie says cheerfully. “I brought Indian.”

Eddie also knows Buck has a real thing for Indian food, the spicy kind especially, and brings it over when he seems to sense Buck is down about something. It’s then that Buck’s phone feels heavy in the pocket of his sweats, and he pulls it out to find several unread messages.

He winces. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Eddie says, then leans forward to kiss his cheek as he walks past Buck and into his apartment. “I just get worried when I don’t hear from you for a while, that’s all. I’ll go if you want me to.”

Buck flounders. It sounds nice, but plenty of things do until you get down to the core of it. He’s liked men like Eddie before, and it’s never ended well for him.

“No, you should stay,” he says, closing the front door and headed to the kitchen. “If you have time that is.”

“Chris is at abuela’s tonight,” Eddie confirms, and Buck feels himself flush – Eddie could stay the night here if he wanted. Or Buck could go to Eddie’s. “You recovered from the week yet?”

Buck’s been doing a lot of overtime and overnight shifts, worked almost seventy hours in the last five days. He’s on two days off, now, and the extra money is making the stress of bills feel very marginally lighter for him.

(That’s the other thing. Buck can work his looks for tips at the Prohibition, and that wouldn’t fly anywhere else. At some point, though, he has to start wondering when his mental health became less important than his ability to pay for Netflix.)

“Buck?”

“Huh? Yeah. Sorry.” Eddie’s smiling fondly at him. “Got lots of sleep last night, so I’m less spacey.”

“You sure?” Eddie teases, and Buck allows himself to feel it – to feel good about Eddie’s presence in his tiny apartment and his life, to just be happy, even if it’s fleeting, to exist at the same time as the other man.

Maybe he shouldn’t let so much of his happiness rest on the shoulders of someone else. But damn it, Buck hasn’t felt known or seen for so long. What’s the harm in it?

“Well, maybe… not so much on the spacey thing,” he says, mostly to try and make Eddie laugh. And he does. And it feels good.

~*~

They eat Indian on the couch with Buck’s newest obsession – Pandemic – playing in the background. Eddie finishes before him, and when he does, he shuffles close to Buck and puts an arm around him.

Buck – primed, always, for a gentle touch – puts his plate down and leans back, exalting in the sensation of Eddie’s arm heavy around his shoulders. This, and a few other things, are his indication that it’s not just about sex – Eddie doesn’t have to bring him Indian food and cuddle him in order to get sex out of Buck.

“Hey,” Eddie says fondly.

Buck leans his head up to kiss Eddie gently. “Thanks for the food,” he murmurs. “And for checking on me.”

“Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. That’s all. It’s not weird to do it unannounced, is it?”

Buck shakes his head with a smile. When Eddie’s here, it’s impossible for Buck to believe that the other man will hurt him. When Eddie’s gone, it becomes all too easy. He wonders if Eddie feels the same way sometimes. Like Buck’s just shy of too close, too intimate.

“I like it when you come over,” he admits. “Especially when you bring food.”

“Ah, that’s all I am to you, huh? A glorified Uber Eats driver?” But Eddie’s smiling, so Buck knows not to take him seriously.

“I mean, you’re way hotter than any of my Uber Eats drivers ever have been,” Buck says. “I can tip you extra if that’s what it takes.”

“I take my tips in physical affection,” Eddie says, and his voice has gone low and soft, gentle, but enticing. He does this with Buck sometimes, gets gentle when they’re flirting, and Buck wonders if Eddie can see some of his baggage piled up behind him – that Buck will always sort of think he’s only really good for sex.

He swings himself into Eddie’s lap, settles there, and puts his arms around Eddie’s shoulders. It’s a little awkward because he’s long-legged and still sort of gangly, despite his efforts in the gym, and Eddie is a bit shorter than him – but Eddie’s hands settle on his waist, and he presses his thumbs into Buck’s hips experimentally.

The pressure sends a zing of excitement all the way up his spine. He knows this. He knows Eddie’s signals, now – he’s always been good at this, reading people, sensing what they want before they even seem to know themselves. That’s how he knows to stretch his spine up so he can slide his shirt over his head, watch as Eddie’s pupils expand slowly as he takes in Buck’s chest, his nipple piercings at eye-height.

He expects Eddie’s hands on them, his fingers tweaking the bars through them until Buck’s shaking with the pleasure-pain of it, but Eddie skips that and leans in, gets his mouth around one and holds Buck steady with both hands. Buck’s trembling even before Eddie twists the bar sideways a little, fitting the arrows between his top and bottom teeth and tugging a little.

“Oh, fuck,” Buck gasps, and he digs his nails into Eddie’s shoulders, unintentionally. He feels Eddie smile – the bastard – as one hand slides down to palm at Buck’s cock, half-hard, through his sweats.

“I’ve got a whole bed,” Buck breathes, but holds Eddie’s head to his chest and prays the guy never stops – he’s never in his life met anyone this fucking good with their tongue.

Eddie moves, and Buck whines with the loss. “You do,” he murmurs. “Off.”

It’s not a request, it’s an order. Buck scrambles to obey, pulls Eddie up off the couch and hustles until they’re flopping down on the bed.

Eddie’s always good to him. He always teases Buck open so gentle that Buck doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react, but he does know that Eddie loves listening to him – Eddie will press him into the mattress just to hear him moan, then gentle his touch and smooth the pads of his fingers right over where he pressed.

Sometimes, Eddie fucks him on his side. Mostly, he seems to want to be able to look at Buck’s face, even if Buck tries to hide it in Eddie’s neck or chest. The first time Buck realizes Eddie wants to be gentle with him, he tries to pull a pillow over his face to hide that his eyes have gotten wet, and Eddie won’t let him. He blinks back the tears and tries to enjoy it, expects it to get rough, only it never does and he comes with Eddie’s hand on him, squeezing just hard enough to make the pressure unbearably good.

Today, Buck doesn’t try to hide his face. He figures Eddie must want to look at him for a reason, and if he’s not put off by anything, then hell, who’s Buck to stop him? He’s on his back with his legs locked around Eddie’s hips, with Eddie’s weight pressing into him, weighing him down. Right now, Eddie’s not watching. He’s kissing a mark into Buck’s neck, rocking into him, and they’re pressed together enough that Buck’s cock is trapped between their bellies and weeping.

“Tell me what you want,” Eddie breathes into his neck.

Buck’s immediate thought is _fuck me harder_ , followed by _maybe put a hand on my throat_ , followed by _you should make me fucking beg for it_ , but he suppresses it ruthlessly. He might be used to sex with people who want to hurt him a little to get off, and maybe he even likes it, a little, but he also loves that Eddie just wants him to feel pleasure without the pain. He loves that Eddie cares enough to actively try not to hurt him.

“This is great,” he whispers back, and he’s not lying, even though he could definitely take being roughed up a lot more. He lets himself enjoy the tenderness without expecting the pain. “Just – can you kiss me?”

When Eddie surfaces from his neck, he’s smiling, and he kisses Buck’s mouth like he’s searching for something lost, uses a hand in his hair to tip his head back and control the angle, and that’s enough. Eddie’s moving inside him, just the right angle and speed and hitting that sweet spot that sets his spine on fire, and he’s tugging Buck’s hair a little, and he’s thumbing at one of Buck’s nipples, and Buck comes. He comes, and he doesn’t blank out.

~*~

“You look happy.”

Buck stretches, smiling dopily at the ceiling. He is happy. He didn’t blank out when he came and that’s good. Eddie’s just come back with a cloth, and he’s cleaning Buck up, and Buck lets him. It’s hard to believe Eddie would hurt him, even accidentally, when he’s this nice.

“I think I could keep tipping you with physical affection,” Buck says, turning his head to smile. Eddie’s smaller than he is, his waist more tapered inwards, with an impressively lean physique that he maintains in the firehouse’s gym. He’s got a single tattoo on his arm and no others, making the three marks of his bullet wounds stand out starkly against his olive skin.

Eddie notices him looking, not that Buck was trying to hide it. “Like what you see?”

Buck reaches out, thumbs at the mark in Eddie’s lower abdomen. It looks meaner than the other two, like it was a lot more aggressive in its attempts to kill him.

“I don’t like that this happened to you,” he murmurs, without really meaning to. Eddie’s gone quiet. Buck realizes suddenly that Eddie might really not want to talk about this, ever, with him, and feels a stab of shame – it’s none of his business. They don’t even know each other that well. He shouldn’t be saying anything. God, but he wants to know Eddie, he wants to be there for Eddie like Eddie has been for him, but maybe Eddie doesn’t want or need that. Not everyone is fucked up like Buck is.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, flustered, and sits up, intending to go to the bathroom and give Eddie a moment.

Eddie grabs his wrist before he can get off the bed, saying, “Wait,” and Buck turns back to him, feeling weirdly vulnerable for being naked when they just fucked. Eddie’s looking at him searchingly, his eyes boring into Buck’s.

“Thanks,” Eddie says softly. “Nobody’s ever said that before.”

Buck blinks, relaxes. “Nobody’s ever told you they wish you hadn’t been shot?”

Eddie shakes his head silently.

Buck turns back to him, tugs one of his blankets over both of them, because Eddie’s shoulders are hunched like maybe he feels a little out of place too. “But… you had a wife, right?” Buck ventures hesitantly, “or a girlfriend?”

(Chris had to be conceived somehow, right?)

A long pause. Eddie chews a thumbnail. “Yeah,” he says finally. “A wife. She was more concerned with getting me back to normal so she could parade her husband the war hero around to her friends and family.”

Buck winces. “What do you mean, back to normal?”

“I mean I came back riddled with PTSD and my wife didn’t even fucking recognize me,” Eddie snaps, and Buck freezes up a little. The air goes tense, and Buck looks desperately for something to say – tries to work out if Eddie’s angry at him, or the situation.

Eddie startles him by moving suddenly, rubbing his face with both hands. “Sorry, Buck,” he says tiredly. “It’s not your fault.”

“I shouldn’t be nosy,” Buck hears himself say, even as his soul cries out that it wants to know Eddie, that he wants to be let in.

Eddie gives him a little frown, half amused, half concerned, and reaches out to card a hand through his hair gently. “Don’t say that,” he says. “You’re not nosy. You’ve put more effort into working me out than anyone ever has.”

Buck smiles hesitantly, and Eddie leans over to kiss him, like he’s trying to reassure Buck it really is fine.

“Can I stay the night?” he asks abruptly, when he pulls away.

“You want to?” Buck’s pleased about that. Maybe Eddie really isn’t angry at him for his nosiness. “Yeah. We can watch a movie or something. I’ll make you dinner.”

“You don’t have to cook for me, Buck. You’ve gotta be tired after the week you’ve had.”

“I want to,” Buck says, earnestly, and Eddie smiles.

~*~

He has the ingredients for chicken and mushroom risotto, so that’s what he makes.

Eddie is constantly in awe of his cooking, which Buck suspects has something to do with Eddie not being able to make anything other than pancakes and eggs without burning it.

“This is amazing,” Eddie groans. “My abuela will be so happy I’m with you.”

Buck flushes a little. “I’m… with you?”

Eddie blinks. “Yeah? I kind of figured that’s what was going on, but if it isn’t-”

“No,” Buck says quickly. “I’m glad. I just uh – I didn’t know. I didn’t think you’d want that.”

Eddie seems to know he doesn’t really want to talk about it, because he swiftly moves on from it. “Well, when you cook like this, how am I supposed to stay away?” he teases. “When are you working next?”

“Tuesday. I start at four I think.”

Buck kind of figured that with them now seeing each other outside of Eddie coming to Buck’s work, Eddie would stop showing up. But he hasn’t. He seems to stop in whenever he can – like he’s just making sure Buck’s okay.

~*~

Tuesday brings about huge amounts of regret for Buck.

It’s almost eleven, and Buck’s praying that his relief comes in at one in the morning like they’re supposed to. The Prohibition isn’t busy, but the music is still bone-jarringly loud, and Buck’s mindlessly cleaning glasses to the tune of Betta Lemme’s Give It, feeling uncomfortable and exposed in the clothes he’s wearing.

“This sucks ass,” Kaz complains. She’s one of the newest employees, and part of a strategy by their shitfuck managers to increase drink sales – have a female and male bartender on at all times, to cater to everyone’s sexual preference. Buck despises it. He knows he’s getting paid extra to be put on display like this, and he knows that he was hired for the pure fact that he could be put on display, rather than his bartending skills, but he doesn’t have to like it.

“Yeah,” Buck says. Kaz is a tiny little five-foot-two, maybe a hundred and ten pounds if she’s dripping wet, with short hair tied back into little pigtails, one half blue and the other half black. She wears almost as much eyeliner as Buck does, though he has to wonder if it’s for the same reason.

“Seriously, do people stare like this every night?”

“Pretty much,” Buck says. “That’s why we’re here. To be looked at.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

He can tell it’s bothering her, which is maybe why he lets his guard down a little and says, “Yeah. But they pay us to be here and to look like this. It’s not an accident you’ve only worked with me.”

She looks disturbed, and he feels a little sorry for her. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell her that the managers don’t have a problem with them giving “private tours” of the club if asked – as long as they get thirty percent of the proceeds. He also can’t protect her, because he can’t even protect himself, and he’s proven that by getting roofied twice in as many months.

At least Eddie was there. At least he didn’t become Hamish. He still could, if he isn’t careful. He’s sure it won’t be long before those private tours of the club will be mandatory, and he’s planning to get the fuck out of here while he can.

“Hey,” Kaz says, after a few minutes. “It’s super quiet. You wanna go do a line in the storeroom?”

Buck comes crashing back into reality. “What?”

“A line? As in cocaine?” She waggles her eyebrows. “My dealer’s got the good shit.”

“No,” Buck says. “I don’t do that shit.”

(He used to, that’s the thing. Spent the ages of seventeen to twenty in a drug-fueled stupor, having sex with anything that moved, letting people use him the way they wanted to and desperately trying to escape his own mind. He doesn’t like that he can’t remember things, now, that whole weeks are missing from his memories or that Eddie really believed for a moment that he’d taken GHB on purpose. He doesn’t like any of it.)

Kaz is frowning playfully at him. “Is this a test, babe? Everyone in the scene does it.”

“I don’t,” Buck says. “If you wanna do it go right ahead, but I’m not gonna join you.”

“More for me,” she says with a shrug, and leaves for the storeroom. Buck stands there, swallowing convulsively, desperate to tell her not to do it and knowing she’ll tell him to fuck off if he does. He was the same, not so long ago, and it took him losing almost everything to get back on track again.

He scans the club helplessly. There’s only a few people here, some sorority girls standing at one of the tables near the dance floor and two guys at the end of the bar – the same two that seem to always be here, leering at him, watching him move.

He feels exposed, suddenly – he’s wearing a sleeveless denim vest with nothing underneath it, black jeans that sit too low on his hips, a few necklaces around his neck. The only thing that makes it feel a little better is the eyeliner, gritty on his eyelids and under his eyes, as he stares back at them for a moment. He has to force himself to do it instead of looking away, assert himself so they know he’s here and that they can’t bully him.

“Hey, you come here often?”

He turns, startled, and sees Eddie sitting on the barstool in front of him. He’s smiling, clearly joking around. “Hey,” Buck replies, frazzled.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Eddie looks to where Buck was looking; the men are staring at him, now, and Buck watches, a little fascinated, as Eddie’s expression darkens as he stares them down. “Those pricks still bugging you?”

“I’m here, so they’re here,” Buck says simply. “Here for a drink?”

“Just wanted to say hey. I just knocked off.” Eddie scans the bar. “Where’s the tiny one?”

Buck smiles a little at that description. He could tell the truth, make himself look good – “Eddie, she offered me drugs, but I didn’t take any, I swear” – but he doesn’t, because he doesn’t want Eddie to think badly of her. “She went to the bathroom I think.”

“Guess there’s not many people here,” Eddie comments, looking around. “Jesus, it’s dead in here.”

“It’s Tuesday.” Buck shrugs. “Normal Tuesday crowd. Maybe a few less.”

“Getting paid to wipe the glasses clean?” Eddie’s referencing Buck’s habit of viciously cleaning the glassware when he’s irritated or stressed, which he’s doing now. Buck winces and puts it down, and Eddie smiles.

“Yeah. Not much else going on.”

“Well, I’m gonna head off. I just wanted to check in on you.” A pause. “Let me know when you’re home safe?”

“I will.” He likes that Eddie wants to know. “Bye.”

“Bye, Buck.” Eddie leans over, kisses him on the cheek in full view of the two men, and leaves. When Buck sneaks a look, they’re both pissed.

He swallows, then turns to the bar and pours himself a shot of straight whiskey, downs it, and feels no less ill at ease in his skin than he did before. Maybe he and Kaz aren’t that different after all.

~*~

When he steps into the night, it’s gotten chilly, and he’s only got a t-shirt to keep him from getting cold. He’s groggy from a nine-hour shift spent on his feet and the four or five shots he downed just to stop his anxiety from hitting the roof.

He shoulders his backpack – which doesn’t have much in it, apart from a few protein bars, a water bottle, and a change of clothes – and stands at the bus stop uneasily. He’s got his phone in his pocket and his headphones hanging out the front of his t-shirt, but he doesn’t wear them, purely because he hasn’t seen the guys from the club leave yet.

It would take him thirty-five minutes by bus to get to his own apartment. It would take him forty-two to get to Eddie’s. It’s one-thirty in the morning, and he really doesn’t want to bother the other man – except he’s had a really shit shift, and he can feel his skin crawling, and he just wants to feel safe.

He gets the bus to Eddie’s. The seats aren’t comfortable but he does manage to sink into them anyway, still strung tight and feeling anxious. Kaz offering him cocaine is playing in his head on a loop and he’s remembering that one time he snorted so much of it he let a guy fuck him without a condom, and spent six months terrified of the results of the STD test he took the next day. Clean, thankfully, but it was enough to shake him up. Enough to make him think about stopping.

(It took him three more months. But he never barebacked again. Wasn’t ever that stupid again. He almost called Maddie, but he knew she wouldn’t answer. She’d escaped their shitty upbringing in Pennsylvania and left him behind for a new life with Doug, and he couldn’t blame her.)

Eddie’s neighborhood is pretty quiet, and the apartment complex he lives in is small, with only twenty units in the entire building. Buck knows the code and buzzes himself in, then takes the stairs up to Eddie’s apartment, on the fourth floor. There’s an elevator. He doesn’t want to be trapped in it.

When he knocks on the door, he’s fully expecting Eddie to either not answer or be pissed – rightfully so – when he opens it.

Eddie’s shirtless. He’s wearing sweats that are slung low on his body, and he looks a little sleepy, but not necessarily like Buck woke him up. The TV is murmuring in the background, and the apartment feels warm.

“Buck?” he asks drowsily.

“Hi,” Buck mumbles.

Eddie reaches out, puts the back of his hand on Buck’s cheek. His eyes are brown and warm in the light, and Buck swallows, looking at him and thinking, _I’m safe. I’m at Eddie’s and I’m safe. Eddie’s not gonna hurt me._

“God, you’re freezing,” Eddie says, and tugs him inside gently, shuts the door. “Stay there.”

Buck stands in the entryway, blinking in the light. Eddie’s place has felt like home ever since he woke up here after getting roofied the first time, when Eddie pressed one of many mismatched mugs into his hands and gave him tea that he didn’t even know the ingredients of. The sofa is a fold-out bed one, with a chaise attached, a grey fabric one that’s soft and plushy and scattered with mismatched throw cushions. All the furniture is wood, and-

Eddie’s framed the picture Buck drew of him and Chris, and it’s hanging up above the TV, pride of place. The one Buck drew on scrap paper is stuck to the fridge with a cartoon banana magnet.

“Here,” Eddie says, and Buck blinks, comes back down to reality. Eddie’s pushing his army hoodie into his hands, smiling at him. “Put this on, Dios. I’m cold looking at you.”

Buck ditches the backpack and pulls it on, inhales Eddie’s scent as it settles over him. His whole soul seems to relax, and he manages to smile. Eddie’s put the kettle on, so there’s tea coming.

“Chris is asleep,” Eddie says softly.

“Sorry,” Buck apologises immediately. “I didn’t think, I can-”

Eddie kisses him gently, and Buck almost shrinks, knowing that Eddie can almost definitely taste the alcohol still clinging to him. Sure enough, when he pulls away, he’s frowning.

“Drinking on shift?” he murmurs. “What happened, cariño?”

God, Buck melts at the term of endearment. He doesn’t even really know what it means. “Just a shit shift, that’s all,” he admits. “I just – yeah. I know I shouldn’t have.”

“You don’t need to apologise for that. Is that why you’re here?”

Buck nods mutely.

Eddie smiles. “Okay. You can have a shower if you want. I’ll find you a towel.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up…”

“Don’t be. I wasn’t really asleep.”

Buck wonders if Eddie was having a rough night too. If he feels it the way Buck does sometimes. It’s a little comforting, to think that other people stay awake and stare at the ceiling and ruminate over what they could’ve done different.

Eddie comes back with a towel, a big fluffy one that he only really brings out for Buck. Buck’s grateful for him, for his kindness, and he leans down to kiss Eddie, holds the back of his neck as he does so.

“Thank you,” he whispers, blinking his eyes open.

Eddie smiles. “Go shower. I think there’s still makeup wipes in the bathroom.”

There is. Buck uses one, swipes all the eyeliner off until his own eyes stare back at him, blinking and blue and a little smudged underneath, a combination of black makeup and tiredness. When he steps into the shower, it’s a relief to feel the water hitting his skin, washing the sweat and smoke and smell of booze off him.

He steps out, finds that Eddie’s left a pair of sweats on the counter for him, and steps into them. They’re just shy of long enough, but not awkwardly so, and he pulls his own t-shirt and Eddie’s hoodie on before stepping back into the living room.

Eddie’s on the couch, accompanied by two mugs of tea. He smiles sleepily.

“Come over here.”

Buck joins him, gets pulled immediately into an embrace, and Eddie kisses his temple sweetly. Buck’s throat feels tight. What’d he do to deserve this?

“Sorry you had a shit day,” Eddie murmurs into the side of his head. “Those guys again?”

Buck hesitates, but he decides to tell the truth. “Not just them.”

“What else?” Eddie’s running his fingertips idly through the hairs at the back of Buck’s neck, relaxing him.

Buck sips his tea. It’s the same mystery stuff Eddie’s abuela puts together. “Kaz offered me some coke,” he admits.

Eddie blinks at him, looking a little sleepy. “I mean, it’s just soft drink. I know you like your health stuff, but it’s okay to cut loose once in a while.”

Buck has to laugh at that. Eddie’s either sheltered or exhausted – hell, maybe both. “Coke as in cocaine, Eddie,” he clarifies.

“Oh.” Eddie sobers up. “You didn’t take it though.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement, and Buck feels bolstered by that – Eddie knows he won’t take drugs on purpose and that feels like a huge win, honestly. He’s sure that most people’s boyfriends could confidently say the same, but hell, after being roofied twice he wouldn’t blame Eddie for blaming him, or thinking he did it on purpose.

“No,” he says. “I didn’t. I just – I didn’t know that she did. I don’t know what to tell her.”

Eddie frowns. “About what?”

“The whole place. How to be safe. If she’s tweaking she might make bad choices, that’s all.”

Eddie watches him evenly. “Did you?” he asks.

Buck’s gut lurches. “Um, I – when I…?”

“Fuck, sorry,” Eddie says, and his stroking picks up pace, like he’s nervous and trying to soothe. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my – God, can you pretend I never said that? I’m really sorry.”

“I’ll tell you if you need to know,” Buck says, his throat tight for an entirely different reason now.

“No, no, cariño,” Eddie whispers, and takes his face in both hands to kiss him gently. “No, you were already honest when you told me you used to, and that you don’t anymore. I know you don’t anymore. You don’t owe me anything, okay? If you never want to tell me – that’s your business.”

Buck nods wordlessly.

“I swear,” Eddie stresses, and kisses him again. “God, I’m so sorry, Buck, you came here because you had a shit day and I’m making it worse for you.”

Buck licks his lips, reminds himself that he’s safe here, that Eddie’s good. “It’s okay if you want to know,” he says, sounding very much like it’s not okay. “I – I’d tell you. You’re sleeping with me, you deserve to know.”

“Are you clean?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Yeah. I’ve been tested.”

“And we wear condoms, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then no, I don’t need to know. Unless you want to tell me. But I won’t ever force you or hold it over your head, okay?” Eddie gives him a wobbly smile. “You can uh, you can stop looking like I’m gonna hit you now, okay?”

Buck smiles a little. “Thanks, Eddie,” he says quietly.

“Dios, for all that?” Eddie smiles ruefully.

“I came here at two in the morning and you didn’t even care,” Buck says. “And you made me tea. And you – really don’t expect me to tell you anything. It’s nice. Just – having somewhere to go. It’s nice.”

Eddie touches their foreheads together. “I want you safe,” he murmurs. “You’re safe with me. You know that, right?”

Buck swallows thickly. “Yeah. I know.”

~*~

He wakes up to his phone vibrating.

He rubs his eyes blearily, blinks away the sleep, takes stock of the black smudge left on his hand where he didn’t take his eyeliner off properly.

His phone vibrates again, and he groans, seeing that it’s only six in the morning. Behind him, Eddie stirs – he’s got his arm wrapped over Buck’s waist, his other under Buck’s head. He smells musky and a little like sweat and it’s heady and delicious, and Buck almost rolls over to kiss him.

His phone vibrates again.

“Who the fuck,” he mumbles, fumbling for it. Eddie’s fingers trail over his bare belly, and Buck shivers.

**From** : Kaz, 5:56AM  
Hey bucky so sorry about last night xx didn’t realise coke would freak u out

**From** : Kaz, 5:59AM  
Babe I really am sorry ok? Thought everyone in the bar scene did it xx

**From** : Kaz, 6:03AM  
Are u mad at me? I won’t do it again I promise! :(

Buck scrubs his eyes again, begins to type out a message back so she knows he isn’t angry. And really – he’s not. A little thrown off, maybe, at how casually she suggested it, but not mad.

**To** : Kaz, 6:07AM  
I’m not mad or anything I just don’t do that anymore. I don’t care if you do. Just be careful, okay?

**From** : Kaz, 6:07AM  
Ok babe I understand xx see u tonight?

Buck sighs. He’d kind of forgotten he’d agreed to work a quick turnaround.

**To** : Kaz, 6:08AM  
Sure will

He lies there for a few minutes, trying to go back to sleep, but it’s not happening now. He’s wide awake even though his eyes feel gritty with exhaustion, and he doesn’t want to wake Eddie by tossing and turning – Eddie’s still fast asleep, his nose buried in the hair at the back of Buck’s neck and his breathing slow and deep. His arm, over Buck’s waist, is deliciously heavy.

He gets up, washes his face in the bathroom, and turns to look at Eddie for a moment. He’s shuffled over to Buck’s spot, and he’s got his head on Buck’s pillow now, but he’s still sleeping soundly, looking unfairly like a Greek god in the early morning light. Buck feels like a shriveled-up gremlin. A combination of not enough sleep and alcohol right before bed, probably.

He steps into the living room and is greeted with the sight of Chris, sitting on the couch and looking like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He’s wearing Spider-Man pyjamas and slippers that look like bear feet, hair tousled from sleep.

Buck blinks sleepily. “Hey, little man,” he says.

Chris beams at him from the couch. “Hi, Bucky! Did you sleep over?”

“I sure did.” Buck drops onto the couch next to Chris, drags down a throw rug over the both of them. He’s surprised when Chris snuggles into his side happily, but weirdly grateful. The kid’s taken to him like a duck to water.

“What’re you doing up so early, huh?” Buck yawns.

Chris bites his lip. “Promise not to tell?”

Buck holds up his pinky finger. “I swear,” he promises solemnly, and is on the receiving end of another bright grin when Chris clumsily hooks his pinky through Buck’s.

“When Daddy sleeps in,” Chris whispers, conspiratorially, “I wake up to watch cartoons.”

Buck drops his jaw in mock surprise. “You lawbreaker.”

Chris giggles, burying his face in Buck’s side. “Why are you awake, Bucky?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Buck lies smoothly. “Hey, if we’re gonna be awake, we might as well eat something, huh? What do you normally have for breakfast?”

“Rice Krispies,” Chris answers promptly.

“Rice Krispies?” Buck asks dubiously. “What about pancakes? Or French toast?”

Chris blinks. “What’s French toast?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had French toast,” Buck gasps.

“No,” Chris giggles. “Daddy can’t cook, Buck.”

“Well, I’m gonna fix that.” He stands, and he’s surprised when Chris holds his arms out with a smile, clearly wanting to be picked up. He does, hefts the kid onto his hip and smiles when Chris hugs his neck and lays his head on Buck’s shoulder.

Buck cuddles him close for a moment, closes his eyes and allows himself to take in Chris’s scent – he still smells a little like a baby, and he’s thoroughly jealous that Eddie gets this every day.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s make French toast. You get to be my sous chef.”

“What’s a soup chef?”

Buck laughs as he sets Chris down on the counter and heads to the fridge, which he knows has ingredients in it because he forces Eddie to buy real food now. “A sous chef is the second in command,” he says seriously. “You have to make sure I’m doing everything right.”

“I can do it,” Chris says confidently.

Buck smiles. God, he loves how this kid doesn’t let anything stop him or slow him down. “You sure can, Superman,” he says, and Chris beams. “Okay. Like this.”

~*~

For the next twenty minutes, Buck ignores the ping of his phone in his pocket as he shows Chris how to make French toast.

Chris is enthralled by cooking. He wants to help with everything – cracking the eggs, dipping the bread, sprinkling icing sugar and syrup on everything. He clings to Buck’s arm and trusts Buck entirely to not let him fall off the counter, which feels like a huge amount of responsibility. He wonders if Eddie feels like this all the time.

“You’re up already?”

He’s plating the first lot of French toast as Eddie pads into the kitchen sleepily.

“We’re making breakfast,” Buck says, and Eddie smiles slow and happy at him, taking in Chris sitting on the counter.

“What’re you doing, mijo?”

“I’m Bucky’s soup chef,” Chris announces proudly.

“We’re going to start a restaurant,” Buck adds. “The Kitchen of Diaz and Buckley, but we only serve carbs and nothing else.”

“Diaz and Buckley, huh?” Eddie asks, and comes over to kiss him softly and ruffle Chris’s hair. “And what are Diaz and Buckley doing awake so early?”

“Chris caught me watching cartoons,” Buck replies, and Chris giggles, his fists over his mouth as he does so. “Apparently morning cartoons aren’t allowed in this household.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Only on weekends,” he says, “except it’s school holidays.”

“Cartoons all day then!” Buck says. “Here.”

“You made me breakfast?”

“Nah, I just want you to look at it,” Buck deadpans, and Eddie huffs a laugh at him. “Go eat, seriously.”

“Mijo, you want the first lot?” Eddie asks.

“No,” Chris says stubbornly. “I wanna help Bucky cook.”

Eddie smiles even wider at that. “Okay. I can take my boys waiting on me.”

Buck finishes up cooking for all three of them, plates everything up, and carries Chris over to the table, cuts up his food. His phone pings again, and he excuses himself to the bathroom, briefly, to check his messages.

**From** : Kaz, 7:12AM:  
Omg buck someone was attacked last night D:

Buck closes his eyes. Swallows. Athena’s phone number glares at him from his contacts screen where her message sits, just below Kaz’s.

**From** : Athena Grant, 07/01/2020, 9:34AM:  
Thanks for hearing me out, Buck. If you know anything else, give me a call. Stay safe.

He swallows again. And again. Feels his stomach lurching like he’s gonna be sick, the smell of French toast and syrup making his gut churn horribly. He leans on the bathroom counter, taking deep breaths, closing his eyes against the nausea.

A knock. “Buck?” Eddie asks hesitantly. “You okay in there?”

He takes a deep, deep breath. Stands up straight, opens his eyes. He’s pale. Last night’s eyeliner is smudged around his eyes. He looks like shit.

He opens the door, smiling. “Sorry,” he says cheerfully. “Didn’t finish my toast off, right?”

~*~

The day after Buck identified Hamish to Athena, she called him to meet her at a café.

He figured that it was probably more about the identification. He hadn’t really known Hamish well, and wasn’t lying about that. He just knew the tattoo because of how distinct the art style was. He knows art like he knows fucking, and he knows this very specific fineline style.

He’d met her at the café in a plain hoodie and regular jeans. She somehow looked surprised by that, but she bought him a coffee and he didn’t argue because he doesn’t exactly earn a lot of money.

She asked him to be a police informant. Just to watch the Prohibition for signs of trouble, because she could trust him and something had already happened there, more than once. Buck hadn’t really answered, and she’d told him it was okay – he didn’t have to, it was a lot to ask.

She gave him her number. In case he saw anything, or heard anything. He’d nodded along blindly at the time and had sat in the café for a long while afterwards, stupefied. A police informant? Him? Athena undoubtedly has access to his records. Maybe she didn’t look.

He leaves Eddie’s and heads to the bus stop, insisting on walking even though Eddie wants to drive him. He needs to clear his head before work anyway.

Kaz’s messages are short. She doesn’t know a lot, only that a young guy had come to in the alleyway out the back with no idea what’d happened to him and his pants undone. He’s at the hospital now. There are no cameras in the alleyway.

Buck grits his teeth. No fucking cameras. He’s been telling the assholes in management that they need cameras out the back if they expect their staff to be taking rubbish out there and the patrons use it as a cut-through to other clubs within walking distance, but it’s been months and there’s still nothing there.

If the managers aren’t gonna help them, Buck is.

He steps into the L.A.P.D headquarters feeling nervous, staring around at the soaring architecture and wondering how the fuck his life came to this.

He stands there for a moment, until a young female officer appears at the counter. She doesn’t even blink at his appearance, though he guesses she’s probably seen worse.

“Hey, how can I help you?” she asks.

“Is Athena Grant here?” he asks quietly.

The officer looks at him curiously, but without judgment. “Sergeant Athena Grant?”

“Are there many other Athena Grants around here?” Buck jokes weakly.

“Right.” She actually laughs, a little. “What’s your name?”

“Buck?” He says it like it’s a question and winces in the aftermath. If he sounds uncertain about his name, he’s probably not going to sound very certain about what he’s here to tell Athena.

He waits in the lobby for a few minutes, letting the sensation of his oversized black hoodie and denim jacket act as a shield. The clothes he wears for work at the Prohibition are chosen for their effect on people, primarily, and not Buck’s own physical or mental comfort. It’s nice to slip into something that hides his form, rather than displays it.

“Buckaroo,” Athena’s voice comes, warm and lilting with affection.

He turns around, smiles when he sees her doing the same to him. “Hi, Athena,” he says quietly.

“What brings you here, baby?” she asks, and when Buck doesn’t answer, tilts her head. “You wanna step into my office?”

“Okay. Yeah.”

He mulls over the way she calls him Buckaroo, baby, like he’s her own and she doesn’t see him differently to others. The way she’s casual with her terms of endearment – it’s really nice. It reminds him of Eddie’s little found family at the firehouse, the way they all so clearly love each other.

They step into her office, which looks out over the floor of other officers. Some of the newer ones look at him curiously, but for the most part, everyone goes about their business. Being with Athena seems to exempt him from suspicion.

“What’s up, Buck?” she asks.

He sits down in the chair across from her, notes the pictures of her kids on her desk. Wonders if she thinks about them being the ones in the dumpster, the victim, the sad news story and warning for everyone else.

“I’ll do it,” he says quietly.

She tilts her head, hands clasped together and under her chin. Her eyes are sharp, focused, like she’s looking into and through him.

“You don’t have to, baby,” she says eventually. “It’s a big ask. I knew that when I said it.”

Buck shakes his head. “No,” he says, “I’ll do it. He… might kill someone else, if you don’t catch him. Right? You think he’ll do it again.”

Athena hesitates. Then, “Yes.”

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll do it.” Buck swallows; six months ago, if you’d told him he was going to be a police informant, he would’ve laughed. “One condition.”

“And that is?” Athena asks, eyebrow arched.

“Eddie doesn’t find out,” Buck says. “Nobody finds out. Nobody at the firehouse, nobody here unless they have to – I just don’t want him to know, Athena.”

Her face softens. “I wouldn’t tell anyone, hon. But for what it’s worth – it can be lonely, doing this. You could always tell him you’re helping me.”

Buck shakes his head. He doesn’t want Eddie caught up in this – the drugs, and the constant late-night whirl of alcohol and music so loud and aggressive it makes his head hurt, and the leers of people interested in him for one thing only. This world is his, and he doesn’t want Eddie to have any part in it.

“Alright,” Athena says slowly. “Have you got some time? There’s things we’re going to have to go through if you’re going to be an informant for us.”

Buck swallows. No turning back now. “I’ve got time,” he says.

~*~

**From** : Eddie, 2:14PM  
You free? Come over :)

Buck’s gut lurches even as a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. It’s been two days, and he’s officially a police informant, and he has a team of handlers dealing with him.

Handlers. How fucked up.

He doesn’t bother replying to Eddie, because he’s already at the bus stop and can be there in half an hour. Eddie lives about a half a mile away from the bus stop in his neighborhood, but Buck doesn’t mind. It’s L.A, and it’s usually a nice walk.

On the bus, he stares down at the phone and the information. He sort of can’t believe that he has to have a team of handlers for this, but – well, it’s probably in place for a reason.

When he hops off the bus, he checks to make sure that everything he needs – the burner phone plus the information – is in the bottom of his bag, hidden underneath his clothes, then sets off on his walk. It briefly crosses his mind to tell Eddie what’s going on – but he quickly thinks better of it. Eddie would only worry about him, and Buck doesn’t want him to.

He hops up the steps to Eddie’s apartment building and lets himself in with the code, takes the stairs up as normal. He only has to knock once before the door is swinging open, and Eddie’s smiling at him.

“I didn’t know if you were free.”

“Sorry,” Buck says. “I got distracted.”

“Bucky!”

He’s startled by Chris’s weight barreling into his legs – surprisingly fast for a kid on crutches – and he kneels so he can hug Chris back. He smells vaguely of apple shampoo and soap and paint, and Buck realizes he’s got it all over his hands.

“Sorry,” Chris says. “I was making pictures.”

“Yeah? Can I see?”

Chris beams at that, hurries away while calling, “I’ll get them!” over his shoulder.

Eddie smiles at him when he straightens up, then pulls him into a hug and rubs his back slowly. Buck relaxes into him with a sigh.

Eddie’s hand presses on his ribcage. Buck doesn’t jerk back, even though he wants to. He knows what Eddie’s doing – he’s been doing it for a while, now, ever since Buck nearly blacked out from low blood sugar while working at the Prohibition.

“You’re getting thin again,” Eddie’s voice murmurs in his ear, worried. “You eating?”

“I’m eating,” Buck says.

“Not enough.” Eddie pulls away, and his smile is a little sad now. “What’s going on, huh?”

For a moment, Buck longs to tell him. He ruthlessly squashes the impulse – the whole reason he’s doing this is so Eddie and Chris aren’t exposed to his world anymore than they have to be.

“Nothing,” he lies. “Just, you know. Working a lot.”

Eddie arches an eyebrow. Clearly, he’s not buying what Buck’s selling, so Buck tries a winning smile and says, “But, you know, if you have food…”

(He doesn’t intentionally not-eat. He really does just forget, and sometimes he only remembers when he feels dizzy in the middle of a run that’s normally easy. He’s gotten used to his knees and ankles jolting from the impact of pavement, and he’s gotten used to feeling light from the nothingness. He doesn’t do it on purpose. But he doesn’t do anything about it.)

“I’ve always got food, cariño,” Eddie says, amused. “It’s just never good.”

“Well, maybe I can make us something.”

Eddie tilts his head, smiling. “It feels weird if you cook for me in my house,” he teases.

“It feels weird that you even want me in your house, so, you know,” Buck smiles to soften the edge of concern in Eddie’s face, “we’re even.”

“If you say so,” Eddie says, and kisses him, and Buck forgets the weight of the phone in his pocket. He forgets the police informant stuff. He forgets everything.

~*~

This police informant thing requires two things of him: trust in Athena and the handlers, and to pay attention without getting caught.

Wednesday night brings about a slight change in the routine. There are four bartenders on, two male, two female, and the managers are already planning something when Buck walks in, wearing a standard pair of jeans and a baggy hoodie. He’ll cover himself for as long as he can, honestly.

“Evan,” the manager calls as he enters, and Buck feels his skin crawl immediately. “Come over here.”

He does as he’s told. The manager’s eyes rove his body. “I hope you’re not planning on bartending in that,” he says, and Buck holds up his backpack wordlessly. “Right. Change of clothes. Look, we’re doing something different tonight – get changed and come find me when you’re done.”

Buck shrugs, heads out to the employee locker room. The music is already throbbing, and when he enters, he takes a moment to lean his forehead on the cool steel of the locker, swallowing.

Blake nudges his arm, and Buck looks up to see him standing there, shirtless, eyes assessing. Between them, Hamish’s locker gapes empty. Blake’s a redhead with all the stereotypical personality traits to match, and while he’s smaller than Buck, his bite is far worse. There’s a tattoo of a phoenix, mid-flight, on his back.

“You okay?” he asks. “You look like shit.”

“I’m fine. You?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

Neither of them says it – they were closer with Hamish than they’d really let on to people. Buck’d shared drinks and cigarettes on the rooftop of the bar post-shift a few times, and they’d talked about their dreams. Their hopes. He doesn’t smoke, but he felt something of a kindred spirit in Hamish and passing the cigarette back and forth between them.

“Here,” Blake says, and hands over a silver flask. “Takes the nerves out.”

Buck takes a swig. Straight vodka. It burns on the way down and, when it eventually settles, soothes his nerves. Eddie wouldn’t want him to drink while he’s working. Not after the last few times.

“Something different is happening tonight,” Blake says, and they keep ignoring Hamish’s empty locker. “Manager wants us squared up in the office before we even start.”

“And there’s four of us,” Buck notes.

“Yeah. That too.” Blake watches him. “You have to teach me the eyeliner thing,” he says.

Buck laughs a little. “It’s a pain in the ass to get off, Blake. You don’t wanna, trust me.”

Blake shrugs his slender shoulders, shrugs into his new outfit. Buck’s not paying all that much attention anymore – he’s looping necklaces around his neck and lacing up the side of a tank top designed to make him look thinner and more fragile than he really is, busy trading in his soul for this new skin, sleek and dark and dangerous. He wonders, sometimes, if this is what Eddie was drawn to. Hopes not. Hopes, at the very least, that that’s not the case anymore.

They exit the changerooms together, garnering a few looks as they head for the manager’s office on the second floor. Outside, Kaz and Beth are waiting.

Buck tries not to notice the way Kaz’s eyes light up, a mix of hope and nerves, when she sees him. She’s tiny and angry-looking in fishnets and a matching set of dark, hole-punched leather, held together with metal hoops. He’s not for her, but she doesn’t know that yet.

“Alright,” the manager says, clapping his hands together. “We’re doing an industrial theme night tonight – seems there’s a sub-section of L.A’s culture that’s, I dunno, fairly obsessed with the idea that they’re partying at the end of the world. There’s a new drinks menu – all you have to do is change the names a little, charge an extra five. Meant to be a huge turnout which is why there’s four of you. Evan, Kaz, you’ve got the right hand side of the bar. Blake, Beth, you’re on the left.”

The right hand side of the bar will put him near those creeps that freak him out. He grits his teeth. At least he’ll be able to see the door – maybe he can make himself a useful police informant tonight.

“Okay, fuck off,” the manager says, and they exit the office – and promptly run into a gaggle of seven tall, glistening human beings with glitter all over them.

“What the fuck is this?” Blake asks.

“These,” the manager says, putting an arm around Buck’s shoulders and causing him to stiffen, “are the strippers.”

There’s a mix of male and female here, Buck notices, and the women are by and large taller than he is in their heels. They all look – well, bored.

“Strippers?” he asks.

“Well, none of you will take your fucking clothes off,” the manager says, “even though it’d be a sight for sore eyes. So I had to outsource.”

Buck could throw up. These poor strippers have no idea what they’re in for.

They clatter down the stairs and relieve the morning crew. It’s only four, and Buck suspects business will pick up a fair bit, but for now, they’re just stood behind the bar, watching the first of the strippers climb up onto stages and begin a set of slow tricks.

“Buck?”

Kaz is at his elbow, smiling sheepishly.

“Hey, Kaz,” he says.

“We’re um – are we okay?” she asks. “After the other night… I really didn’t know it was gonna upset you, you know? I just thought it’d be fun.”

He suppresses a flash of annoyance at being referred to as “upset” again. “We’re okay, Kaz,” he assures her, trying to smile. “Promise. I just don’t do that shit anymore.”

“How come? It’s fun. Everyone does it.”

Buck shrugs a little. “It’ll catch up,” he warns. “Always does.”

She frowns, and he knows she hasn’t gotten it. He can’t make her, but he wishes he could. He wishes he could get them all the fuck out of here.

He’ll have to settle, instead, for watching the man who’s just come in.

He’s one of the ones that attends regularly, and if Buck’s memory serves him right – which, honestly, it may not be, given his history of being roofied – he was there both nights Buck got drugged. He’s not untoward in his difference to the other patrons, but Buck notices.

And he notices Buck right back.

“Ugh,” Kaz mumbles. “That guy freaks me the fuck out.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees slowly, watching as he comes in and settles at the counter, eyes drifting the drinks board with the entitlement of a man who consistently gets what he wants. “It’s all good, Kaz. I’ll serve him.”

She blinks up at him, smiles sweetly. “Really?”

If Buck weren’t so fucked up, he might be able to find Kaz sweet. Even help her get away from – well, all this. Who is he kidding, though? He can’t even get himself away from all this.

“Yeah.” Buck grabs his notepad and pen. “I got it.”

Buck is no stranger to this. The men – and women – who come into this establishment treat him the way he tricks them into treating him, which is pretty and dumb for it. When people think you’re too stupid to understand what’s being said in half-tongues, they tend to talk freely around you, and Buck isn’t above using his looks and charm to get what he wants.

“You’re back,” he says to the man, approaching and leaning his right hip on the counter. It opens his chest and pelvis up, makes him feel exposed, but it has the effect of darkening the man’s eyes as they skate Buck’s figure, the way his leaned hip has opened him up for viewing. For a moment, Buck sees himself gutted like a fish, cut from pelvis to breastbone, consumed.

He shakes the thought off. No point thinking about that shit if he’s trying to flirt his way into getting what he wants.

“I thought I’d come when it’s quiet,” the man says, and smiles slowly at him, teeth on display, a fucking shark. “You’re always here when it’s quiet.”

“I like the time talking to customers,” Buck murmurs back, letting his voice lilt and drop. It works – the man leans forward. Buck doesn’t remember his name just yet, but – “What’ll it be?”

He points to the top-shelf whiskey, the super expensive stuff, and Buck remembers instantly – his name is Joseph Wright, and he does something that earns him quite a lot of money and nets him his own business cards, but not conversation. He doesn’t talk about work.

Buck stretches to get it down instead of using the stool. He can feel Joseph’s eyes on him, and when he turns back, he shakes the bottle a little, smiling in the way that makes everyone think he’s theirs. He’s never had to use it on Eddie. Eddie wanted him anyway.

“This one?” he asks.

Joseph smiles. “That’s the one.”

Buck pours one, and as he goes to put it away, Joseph reaches over the counter and grabs his wrist – lightly, no intent to hang on, no intent to hurt. Just the intent to control. Buck forces himself not to flinch. Eddie would never, ever touch him like this.

“Pour yourself one, sweetheart,” he says.

Buck swallows. “I can’t really afford the top shelf stuff,” he jokes. “They don’t pay me that well.”

“It’s on me,” Joseph says.

Buck pours another, almost mechanically, but still grins his way through it. “Thanks,” he says, “Joe.”

Joseph’s pupils blow wide and dark in the club, and Buck thinks, darkly, _got him_.

~*~

Joe’s friend shows up not long after he does, and Buck dedicates the better part of the next hour servicing them thoroughly. Kaz looks at him like she has no idea what the fuck’s going on, but Buck has his suspicions. Even if he can determine they weren’t involved – that helps, right?

Buck plies them with attention and soft smiles and everything they’ve been wanting from him since day one, and it works. The more he dotes on them, the more drinks they buy, and the looser their tongues get. They start talking. They start talking about their interest in the club’s new direction.

“What do you think, Evan?” Joe asks. He’s not slurring, but his cheeks are ruddy.

Buck leans on the counter, pulling out his most gullible-looking smile. “Of what?”

“The new direction of the club,” his friend – Ron or John or whatever – says, leaning across the counter. He’s even more repulsive than Joe is, but Buck doesn’t let it show. “Of the… accessibility.”

He feels like he’s getting to something here. “I didn’t know about the new direction stuff,” he says. “What’s that?”

“Nothin’ for you to worry your pretty little head about, sweetheart,” Joe says, patting his arm.

Buck represses the shudder of revulsion. “Aw,” he says, mock-sad. “C’mon. Please?”

He knew the begging would do the trick. Even if he feels disgusting for it.

“Well,” Joe says, “seems your manager is willing to let us have a little fun as long as we keep it all clean and consensual. Doesn’t mind us being here.”

Buck’s heart jackrabbits in his chest. “Oh,” he says dumbly. “That’s what accessibility means?”

They laugh, that “this poor kid is as dumb as a bag of rocks, but hell, he’s cute” laugh that makes him a combination of furious and embarrassed. “Sure is,” Joe says. “Here.”

He’s passing over a business card. It’s plain and white, and when Buck reaches out to take it, he doesn’t give it up right away. There’s a phone number scribbled on it. “Clean and consensual,” he reiterates, drunk gaze flitting over Buck’s face and resting at his mouth. “That’s all it is, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, and Joe lets the card go.

“Fellas!”

It’s his manager. He comes downstairs, grinning, and wraps one arm around each of the men’s shoulders, taking in the multiple glasses in front of them and Buck’s, sitting still near his hip.

“Are you takin’ advantage of my staff?” he asks.

“Come on, Rick, you gotta let him have a little fun,” Joe says. “He’s too damn gorgeous not to.”

Rick waves a hand. How the fuck did Buck not know his name before now? “I don’t care about that,” he says. “He treating you okay?”

“He’s the best damn bartender you’ve got,” the other guy says, and takes a crisp, one-hundred dollar bill out of his wallet, leans over, and tucks it into the waistband of Buck’s pants. Buck goes rigid, skin goosepimpling, skin flushing, but doesn’t move. He can’t even fucking blink.

Rick leans over, pats Buck on his half-bare chest. “Smart boy,” he says softly, his mouth a cruel smirk. “I knew I’d wear you down.”

Then he leans back, says, “I think we have business to discuss, gentlemen,” and pulls them both away from the bar. Joe leaves him with a beseeching look and another hundred-dollar note thrown down next to his glass.

“Holy shit,” Kaz says.

~*~

The money feels dirty, and it burns a hole in his wallet as he gets on the bus to Eddie’s.

It’s eleven. He worked a short shift, knows that Eddie will be staying up tonight. He’s two hundred dollars richer and he can’t even feel glad for it.

He hasn’t stopped shaking. He drank water at the club but he feels dizzy, fucked-out, like that man’s fingers are still in the waistband of his pants. Was it fucking worth it?

The business card burns a hole in his pocket. He needs to talk to Athena. It’s not even anything concrete, but it’s something. It’s evidence of something. He just doesn’t know what, and she will, and-

“Hey,” the bus driver barks. “End of the line, kid.”

Buck staggers off the bus, still trembling, and marches his way to Eddie’s. He feels tainted for having accepted the alcohol and the flirtation and the touches and the fucking money and all of it, even as he tells himself he’s helping-

Eddie’s door swings open when he knocks, and he has a split second of looking pleased to see Buck before his gaze shutters abruptly and his mouth opens.

“Sorry,” Buck croaks.

“Hey,” Eddie says, and puts a hand on the back of his neck. Buck shudders under the touch, tries to come back to earth, but his bones still feel like they’re reverberating with the music in the club and his skin stings and itches with touches he didn’t want.

“Buck,” Eddie murmurs worriedly. “God, what happened, huh?”

“Bad shift,” is all Buck can get out. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Yeah, of course,” Eddie says, and draws him inside, closes the door. “Go have a shower. There’s… a towel. Makeup wipes.” He looks thoroughly disconcerted. “Buck – Jesus, querido, you’re crying.”

Buck swipes at his cheeks. He is. “Sorry,” he offers again, voice breaking.

Eddie pulls him in close and hugs him and Buck shakes apart in his arms, clings to him, lets Eddie hustle him to the bathroom and begin undressing him. “What do you need?” Eddie asks helplessly. “I don’t know how to help.”

Buck licks his lips. Salt. Lingering alcohol. “Will you just – touch me?” he asks.

Eddie does, fans big, calloused hands over his ribcage in the shower and soaps him off. Buck relaxes the longer they stand there, lets Eddie wash his hair for him, steps close enough to wrap both arms around Eddie’s shoulders and lean on him.

“Better?” Eddie’s drawing patterns in the skin of his back.

“Yeah,” Buck sighs, feeling, for the first time all night, like some of the tension has bled out of him.

“Good.” Eddie smiles at him, but there’s still concern lingering in his gaze. “What happened?”

“Just those guys being assholes again,” Buck says, and technically, it is the truth. That’s why he’s so shaken up. “Not like I can tell them to fuck off while I’m working.”

Eddie’s mouth tilts. “We can find you another job,” he says. “Something not around the red light district…”

Buck shakes his head. “Right now it’s all I’ve got,” he says. “I – thank you. For being worried and letting me stay and… all this.” _But that’s as much as I’ll let you do_ goes unspoken, even though Eddie gets the message with his eyes drifting down.

“I’m glad you come here,” he says finally. “When you’re-”

“Don’t say upset,” Buck interrupts.

Eddie blinks. The water trickles down over his chest. “Hurt?” he finishes, tentatively.

“That’s worse,” Buck says, but he’s so grateful to Eddie for all of this – for just being here and caring and not giving a shit about his past or his issues…

He sinks down to his knees, grips Eddie’s hips.

“Buck,” Eddie says, alarmed. “You don’t-”

“I want to,” Buck mumbles, nosing the junction of Eddie’s thigh and hip and taking in the musky scent of him. He’s half hard already, begging Buck to continue. “I’m serious, Eddie. I want to. I’m here with you.”

“You are?” Eddie checks suspiciously.

“Yeah.” He hasn’t drifted away in sex in a long time. “I really appreciate you doing this for me,” he says, and looks up through his eyelashes to meet Eddie’s gaze. “Let me show you how much.”

“Christ,” Eddie swears, and Buck grins, takes that as agreement, and gets to work.

~*~

Buck finishes Eddie off well before the water runs cold, proud of himself for the way that Eddie grips his hair in one hand and leans on the wall of the shower with the other, muffling any noise into his arm.

He spits when he’s done, near the drain, because he’s never liked swallowing and Eddie doesn’t expect him to. He feels good now. He’s with Eddie. Eddie’s fingers are detangling his hair and the bathroom light is warm. The towels are yellow.

“I think you killed me,” Eddie groans as Buck gets to his feet.

“Sorry,” Buck says innocently.

They dry off and flop into bed. Buck’s delighted with the way Eddie stretches an arm across the pillow and turns to look at Buck expectantly, like he’s waiting for Buck to come closer and won’t rest until he does.

He settles along Eddie’s side, sighing as the quiet and darkness blanket him. It’s only just past midnight. He feels safe here. Eddie’s gone back to tracing patterns in his skin, on his shoulders, tilts his head to press a lazy, clumsy kiss to Buck’s forehead.

“Nobody’s ever wanted me to stick around before,” Buck admits. “After.”

“Hmm. That’s stupid of them.” Eddie turns his head to face him. “I like it when you stay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re all floppy and relaxed. I like seeing you relaxed.” Eddie smiles sleepily. “I kinda just like you, actually.”

Buck kisses him, reaches to turn out the light. “What’s for breakfast?”

Eddie laughs. The sound soothes some deeply cracked part of Buck’s soul. “Breakfast is at least seven hours away, Buck,” he teases. “But I can make you pancakes. Hell, if you supervise, maybe even bacon.”

“I can supervise,” Buck says, and Eddie presses another kiss to his head before his breathing evens out and he’s asleep.

Buck kisses his chest, right over one of the bullet wounds. Thinks maybe if he kisses it enough times, he can fix Eddie where he’s really hurt. Where it matters.

~*~

He wakes up in the morning to one of Eddie’s hands stroking his hair, and the other stroking his cock.

Buck groans, flexes his legs all the way from his hips to his toes, feels his muscles ache from a shift spent on his feet and a long, long sleep afterwards. When he blinks his eyes open, Eddie is smiling down at him cheekily.

“Chris is still asleep,” he whispers to Buck, and strokes him again, rolling his thumb over the head of Buck’s cock where there’s precum beading. “Can you be quiet for me again?”

Buck nods, digs a foot into the mattress so he can thrust up a little, drags Eddie down by the back of his neck for a kiss. He’s never been woken up like this before, slow and filthy in someone else’s bed while wearing their clothes, their scent. If he could bottle this feeling, turn it into a drug, he would be hooked.

Eddie squeezes. Buck moans, but quietly, like Eddie asked. He wants to be so good for Eddie.

“Good boy,” Eddie whispers, and Buck throbs, bites into his lip, close enough to be drunk on the feeling. “That’s it. You gonna come for me?”

Buck nods, breathing quick, digging his fingers into Eddie’s shoulders.

“Okay, cariño,” Eddie murmurs, speeding up a little. “Go ahead and come for me.”

He does, because Eddie asked him to, shoots ropes of come onto Eddie’s hand and his own belly, toes curling and head flexing back with pleasure. Eddie never just leaves him to it – he always strokes Buck all the way through, until it’s almost too much, too good. He’s doing it now, even as Buck’s legs fall apart.

“Good morning,” Eddie says pleasantly, giving him a squeeze.

Buck whimpers incoherently, opening his eyes and lolling his head sideways to stare at the man. Eddie’s eyes are glinting happily, and his other hand is back in Buck’s hair, stroking.

“Yeah,” Buck croaks. “I’ll say.”

Eddie laughs a little, lets him go, pats his belly in an oddly intimate gesture, then reaches for some tissues to clean him up. “I’ll find you a new t-shirt,” he promises.

The one Buck’s been wearing – an old army one of Eddie’s – has nothing wrong with it, other than it being rucked up around his ribs. “I like this one,” he says, figuring out sentences again. “Hmm. That was great.”

“I live to please,” Eddie says, and gets off the bed as Buck laughs a little. “Stay in bed if you want. I’ll make breakfast.”

Buck leans back into the pillow, sighing, a slow, dopey grin spreading over his face. He’ll need a shower, and he’s got work late, but the whole day is open and he can hear Eddie cooking and the sounds of Chris waking up in the room down the hall.

He’ll stay for breakfast. Then he’ll visit the LAFD headquarters and tell Athena what he knows. She’ll know what to do.

He rolls out of bed after a few minutes, gets into the shower, and soaps off before climbing right back into Eddie’s shirt, some boxer briefs, and a pair of sweats that have been cut off at the knees to become shorts.

“Bucky!” Chris’s voice calls.

Buck smiles as he opens the door to Chris’s room. Chris is beaming at him from bed, just beginning to sit up.

“Morning, superman,” Buck says.

“Good morning,” Chris says cheerfully, and reaches out for him. Buck sits on the bed for a good-morning hug, smiling as Chris pats his hair awkwardly. “You had a sleepover again.”

“Yeah, I like sleeping over at your place. It’s way cooler than mine.” Buck sits up properly. “You ready for breakfast?”

“Yes,” Chris crows, and Buck picks him up, settles Chris on his hip as he makes his way down the hallway. Chris wraps his arms around Buck’s shoulders sleepily, head down, mouth stretched in a huge yawn. He loves the way Chris wants to be carried by him, the way that this little kid just genuinely trusts him and wants him around. It’s nice.

Eddie meets Buck’s eyes over Chris’s head. He looks – sad, for a moment, and Buck blinks. Then he smiles, and gestures them closer.

“Glad my boys finally decided to help me with breakfast,” he says lazily, and tucks Buck close with an arm around his shoulders. “The bacon was in danger.”

~*~

“It’s something, right?”

Buck’s handler is a five-two, blonde-haired detective who looks like she only just graduated high school and has a reputation for thoroughly and consistently outclassing everyone who underestimates her. Buck likes her.

She flips the business card. They’re sitting in broad daylight at a café a few blocks away from Eddie’s place. She said to meet him here – no Athena, not yet, maybe not ever.

“And what did they say again?” she asks. “Clean and consensual?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, “they were talking to the manager. They’ve got a bunch of money – tipped me two hundred in solid notes before they left.”

“They know the manager?” she asks, eyes sharp. Her name’s Meredith, which is an oddly stately name for someone as tenacious and switched on as she is.

“I didn’t know until last night, but yeah,” Buck says. “Look, I know it’s not a lot, but… it’s something, right?”

Being an informant doesn’t mean they divulge him information. Her face is unreadable as she says, “Could be. When do you work next?”

“Tonight.”

“And you said they were there both times you got drugged?”

“Yeah. The second night – that was the night Hamish…”

Her gaze softens as he swallows, gives the sentence up. “I’m sorry about your friend,” she says sincerely.

“Thanks.”

She waves the card at him. “I’ll do some digging. Just – do what you can, okay? Don’t put yourself in danger. Keep them talking. They’ll spill something important.”

“You think they’re involved?”

“I think they’re strange,” she agrees. “But I think everyone is, so.”

“Right.”

~*~

He goes to work that night, talks with Joe and his gross friend again, watches as they ascend the stairs to Rick’s office sometime around one in the morning.

“You got the bar covered?” he asks Kaz.

“Yeah,” she says – there aren’t that many people here.

“Cool.”

“Where are you-”

He threads his way through the crowd and up the stairs. Just as he reaches the landing, his phone vibrates in his pocket – he pulls it out, sees that it’s Eddie.

**From** : Eds, 1:13AM  
Key is under the mat if you want to come by after work. Stay safe.

He smiles a little, puts his phone away, and continues up the stairs. The door is shut, and Buck knows from the angling of the light fixtures that if he stands to the left, they’ll have no idea he’s even there.

He stands for a moment, listening intently. He can hear that Joe sounds pissed, that Rick’s voice is placating. He needs a way to be able to hear better, but…

There’s a lull in the music. He presses his face close to the door, holding his breath, palms sweating.

“Clean and consensual,” Rick is saying. “That’s the deal. I know they’re fuckin’ gorgeous – I’d bend ‘em all over this desk if I got the chance – but that was the deal. Otherwise the cops are gonna be back down here, and I don’t need that after last time.”

“Oh, come on,” Ron or John or whatever’s voice says. “What happened to that fuckin’ twink was his own fault-”

The music picks up again, leaving Buck with his vision misted red and his heart pounding. He’s rooted to the spot, momentarily, totally unsure of what he should do – leave work and call his handler? Say nothing because it’s not really an implication of guilt?

There’s a smashing noise downstairs, and he turns to see that a drunk frat boy has dropped one of the hurricane glasses. He slinks back downstairs to clean the mess before Rick can say anything, and if he cuts himself in his haste to get the shards off the ground – well, no one has to know but him.

~*~

His pillow is vibrating.

He groans, rolls, lifts his head wearily. Sunlight is piercing through his curtains, obnoxiously bright, and his head hurts – he can immediately identify it as a dehydration headache, which is sad.

His phone. Right. Which is under his pillow, because he was scrolling through Instagram for almost forty minutes before his brain slowed enough for him to sleep.

Eddie’s name is flashing across the screen, and he grins sleepily, answers as he rolls onto his back and tucks his phone against his ear. “Hey,” he says drowsily.

“Hi.” Eddie’s voice is warm through the phone. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“S’okay,” Buck mumbles, tucking his face into his pillow. “Time is it?”

“Noonish.”

“Mmmf.”

He can hear Eddie smiling. “Long shift? Sorry, I really didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Don’t be.” Buck blinks sleepily, letting Eddie’s voice soothe him. It almost lulls him back to sleep – makes him think, in his half-awake state, that Eddie’s actually here. “I like hearing your voice. Especially first thing in the morning.”

Eddie pauses for a moment. Buck listens to him breathe, letting last night’s shift wash away from him.

“Chris and I are free today,” Eddie says, finally, his voice a little thick. “Are you?”

“Mhm.” Buck rolls onto his back, stretches his entire body, then lies still, blinking slowly in the bright light filtering into his apartment.

“Well I was – I was thinking we could come over,” Eddie says. “Chris wants to see your art.”

“Yeah?” Buck can feel how big he’s smiling. “Come over. I’ll make us something for lunch. When will you be around?”

“About an hour?”

“Cool. I’ll see you guys then.”

He drags himself out of bed, finds a banana, and wolfs it down as he takes stock of his fridge and pantry. He probably needs to go grocery shopping, but he’s got enough for now.

Shower is next. He scrubs himself and his hair clean and steps out, still yawning. On reflex, he reaches for the eyeliner pencil abandoned next to the sink, then hesitates.

It’s only Eddie and Chris. He doesn’t need it.

He’s finished plating up a fairly simple chicken stir fry when there’s a knock, and he pulls the door open to find Eddie and Chris standing there – both of them beaming, both of them making his heart completely melt.

“Bucky!” Chris gets in there first – he holds out his arms to be picked up and Buck complies, squeezing until the kid laughs and taps his shoulders. “Is this your house?”

“Sure is, kiddo. I missed you.” He sets Chris down. “You wanna go look around?”

“Yeah!”

Chris hobbles past him, and he turns back to Eddie, whose smile has softened impossibly as he looks at Buck. “You’re so good with him,” he murmurs, stepping forward. “C’mere.”

Buck goes willingly, buries his face in Eddie’s neck for a much, much longer hug than is probably strictly necessary. Eddie’s hands smooth over his back, and he finds himself relaxing, finally feeling the last of that godawful shift wash away.

“Something smells good,” Eddie comments, finally pulling away and giving him a quick, chaste peck on the lips. “Made lunch?”

“I said I would,” Buck smiles, stepping back to let Eddie in and going to close the door.

“Hey, hang on.”

Eddie catches his hand, turns it over. His fingers are littered with little cuts from the broken glass the night before. Or maybe it was early that morning. It’s hard to say with the amount of time he loses to his job.

“What’s this?” Eddie asks. “You hurt yourself?”

“Someone broke a glass at work,” Buck explains, and he doesn’t need to feel guilty because it’s true. “I tried to pick it up with my hands. Rookie mistake.”

“Right.” Eddie lets him go, mostly satisfied. “What’s for lunch?”

“Stir fry, rice, nothing special.” He turns around; Chris is poring over the drawings littered on his coffee table, wide-eyed, jaw open. “Whatcha find, little man?”

“Did you make these?” Chris asks.

“Sure did.” Buck settles down with him, pulls one towards them. “This one’s you.”

“Wow,” Chris says reverently, using gentle fingers to trace the lines. “Can we draw together?”

He’s thawed right through by Chris’s desire to be with him, to learn from him. There’s almost nothing better than the way the kid snuggles up to his side easily, not worried about his job or his sexuality or what he wears. Chris likes him because Buck’s nice to him, end of. It’s nice.

“Sure, buddy,” Buck says. “Maybe you can teach me some tricks.”

~*~

“Hey Buck?”

“Yeah?” Buck asks quietly, watching as Chris fills the page in front of him with colour. He’s a warm weight in Buck’s lap, and Eddie’s being quiet – probably watching them. He seems to like doing that – watching them together. They’ve all sort of eaten, and Buck’s packed up the leftovers to send back – he knows Eddie can’t cook for shit.

“Do you think I can draw like you?” Chris asks.

“What makes you ask that?”

Chris turns a little in his lap. “My hands don’t work,” he says, sounding a little distressed. “It’s hard.”

“Lots of things are hard at first,” Buck says. “It might be harder for you to get there, but you can do it, buddy. Do you like doing it?”

“Yes,” Chris says, with the conviction of a six year old telling a deep, interpersonal secret.

“Then you’ll get really good at it,” Buck says. “Hey, probably even better than me. You started really early. But you know – it doesn’t matter if you’re good or not. As long as you’re having fun.”

“Did you draw when you were six?” Chris asks curiously.

Buck spent the ages of four to ten dodging his father’s blows and trying to protect his mom. He doesn’t remember much of an early childhood. He swallows. “No,” he says. “But that’s okay. I do lots now.”

“Okay,” Chris says, a little uncertainly. He’s as good at reading Buck as Eddie is, which is disconcerting to say the least.

“Oh, hey,” he remembers, and picks Chris up to put him on the couch. “I got you something, kiddo.”

“A present?” Chris’s face is a mask of glee.

“Sure did.” He tugs it out from under the bed – a firefighter Lego set, because the money Joe and his cronies had given Buck felt tainted and he figured he may as well do something good with it. He knows Eddie struggles financially sometimes. “Here.”

“A firetruck!” Chris yells it, and Eddie laughs, startled, as he comes closer to them and sits down close to Buck – presses against him, shoulder to ankle, and leans in to give him a kiss.

“What do you say to Buck, Chris?”

Chris flings himself at Buck’s legs, squeezing them tightly, and tilts his face up. “Thank you, Bucky,” he says, so sweet Buck’s eyes almost water with it. “You’re the best.”

“You’re welcome,” Buck croaks, and Eddie presses his forehead to Buck’s temple.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “For treating him like he’s your own.”

Buck doesn’t know what to say to that.

~*~

The thing is, Buck isn’t used to people being gentle with him while they fuck.

He’s had boyfriends and girlfriends and a whole slew of hookups in between. He’s used to it being rough and impersonal now – and for a while, he preferred it that way; it was easier to convince himself it didn’t matter because they didn’t care, rather than focus on the fact that they didn’t care.

It’s different with Eddie. It’s never been rough or impersonal – Eddie treats him like he’s precious, like he doesn’t want to hurt him. Part of Buck enjoys it, but a bigger part isn’t sure what to make of it, like a little kid seeing their reflection for the first time.

He’s on his back. Eddie’s spread out over him, an almost too warm human blanket, his teeth sunk into his lip as he nudges at Buck’s entrance. For a moment, Buck forgets his reservations about their positions as Eddie slides in – it never hurts with him, just feels good and full, and Buck hears himself moan as his hips cant up and Eddie presses him down, just a little bit, just enough for it to send a thrill through him without scaring him.

Just as Buck’s acclimating to this – to being on his back, rather than his side, which is how they normally fuck – Eddie sighs, leans in, and pushes his face to Buck’s neck. The hand that isn’t holding his hip steady moves up Buck’s arm, tangles their fingers together.

Buck’s gut lurches, and he swallows – he’s gotten used to Eddie being gentle and affectionate when he’s on his side, when they can’t see each other, when they’re not face to face. But this? Holding hands, fingers tangled together-

Too much, his mind screams. Too much, too close. Too intimate.

“Buck?” Eddie murmurs. “You good?”

He’s got Buck’s left leg scooped into the crook of his elbow, and Buck’s right leg is locked around his waist. It’s a good position, a great angle, but – but the hand holding-

“You want me to let you hand go?” Eddie asks softly, loosening his grip.

For a moment, Buck curses him – for being so in-tune with Buck’s mannerisms and body language already to be able to tell something’s wrong, and for the fact that he knows Buck won’t speak and has to push him. Eddie’s never used his reticence to have an opinion in bed against him – rather, he uses it to gauge how Buck’s feeling. Actually asks him and forces him to verbalise.

Buck swallows again. He pushes on Eddie’s shoulder with his free hand, looks into his face – the lines of concern that are etched into his brow, the gentle brown eyes regarding him with concern and affection. Buck’s still not used to anyone wanting to be gentle with him, and he hates having his arms pinned.

But… his arm isn’t really pinned, right? Eddie’s just holding his hand. It’s weirdly intimate considering where the guy’s dick currently is, and Eddie offered to let go…

Buck smiles, hoping it doesn’t look as wobbly and lopsided as it feels, and tightens his grip on Eddie’s fingers. “No,” he says. “This is good.”

Eddie looks downright pleased about that. He settles back down, his fingers laced with Buck’s, his palm warm. His other hand is still holding Buck’s knee, and he leans down, catches Buck’s mouth in a kiss, thrusts.

Buck’s worries disappear on the tail end of the gasp that chokes his throat. “Do that again,” he croaks, and Eddie does, and Buck lets himself go.

He lets everything go.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art: Automatism](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25014580) by [anodizedmud (indiguus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiguus/pseuds/anodizedmud)




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